


From The Heights

by CreatorOfDimensions



Series: The Northern Cold [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 16:48:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 74,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8110039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreatorOfDimensions/pseuds/CreatorOfDimensions
Summary: An old guilt gets a new charge when Frode causes a mountaineering accident that leaves his younger half-brother gravely injured. Espen struggles with fear of losing his identity and his worth as he needs to put his study plans and his band on hold indefinitely. But while he manages to find hope in reconnecting with his distant brother throughout his rehabilitation, Frode loses himself in a downward spiral. Guilt, flashbacks and substance abuse drag him down while he fights to salvage Espen's future. Espen's best friend Daniel begins to challenge Frode's fatalistic outlook with understanding and compassion, but just as they're finding a way to help Frode deal with his trauma, a thoughtless action from Espen shakes the foundations of the relationship they've been trying to rebuild.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More about From The Heights and The Northern Cold series on http://thenortherncold.tumblr.com  
> © Stein Lysander Mazee 2016

An unforgiving, nearly vertical rock face rose from the sea where waves beat against the coastal boulders. Another day, another brutal climb. Espen took a deliberate breath and looked up to gauge what his brothers had in mind for today. From the heights of this peak, the view of the arctic circle archipelago would be breath-taking for sure.  

Stepping carefully on the slippery rock, Espen caught up with his brothers, who waited for him at the bottom of the wall. Jens’ expression masked a certain unholy glee; Frode’s was an outright provocation. A cool spray of sea water hit Espen in the face as a wave broke at his feet. He shoved a dripping curl back into the bandana he wore underneath his helmet. The muscles of his right shoulder protested the movement like they had ever since he got up, a leftover from yesterday’s adventure.

Espen hadn’t dared to ask for a day of rest. Since his brothers finally agreed to take him to the Lofoten islands after years of begging, he could not, would not, be the one holding them back now. Frode repeatedly gave warning that it would be too much for him, but Espen wasn’t about to admit defeat. He hadn't traveled twelve hundred kilometres to remain behind at the tent. He was here to face every challenge head on alongside his brothers, and hang around when Frode wandered off with his camera to capture puffins and seals in impossible places. He wanted to sit at the water’s edge with them, wrapped in his sleeping bag, to watch how the sun refused to set here, while Jens made hot coffee on the rickety gas burner.

Espen laid a hand against the granite, rough under his damp fingertips. Traces of chalk left by previous climbers gave him a fair idea how to begin. He looked between Frode and Jens with a smile. ‘Let’s do this.’

Frode secured the end of a rope to the karabiner on Espen’s harness. After checking the lock, he jerked his head towards the rock face.

The grooves in the granite were small and grip sparse. This particular climb demanded technique and strategy as well as muscular strength. Unfortunately, the only edge Espen had on his brothers was being significantly lighter. He worked himself up to the first anchor as quickly as he could to leave the constant stream of advice where to place his hands and feet behind, and clipped the rope that Frode fed through his belay device into the anchor. The barely healed gash in his left index finger split open again and bled a little. Espen resisted the urge to stick his sore finger in his mouth.

‘This is remarkable,’ Jens spoke to Frode.

Espen could barely hear them over the rushing waves against the weathered, uneven rocks beneath him, but he was keen on that sly tone.

‘I’ve seen mountain goats up on a wall like this before, but never a sheep.’

Espen laughed quietly at the visual despite the cheap shot at his nickname.

The wind tugging at his jacket eventually cut him off from his brothers’ conversation, which returned to the subject of an article in  _Chemical Engineering Science_  that they’d been debating during the hike from the tent.

Espen redirected his attention to the climb. A fissure in the granite appeared to be the only spot left where he could place his right hand. It offered little to no support. He looked up at the next anchor, a tantalising meter or so above him. Unable to maintain his current position much longer, he blindly felt for support with his right foot. His left leg trembled with the effort of keeping him upright against the wall.

‘Get on with it!’ came a voice from down below.

Espen gritted his teeth and decided to take a leap to the small ridge underneath the anchor. Frode would catch him if he missed.

Summoning his strength, Espen jumped up to grab the ridge with both hands, but there was not enough room to consolidate his hold. His fingertips scraped the stone, and he began to plummet.

His heart shot up in his throat when the expected tug on his harness didn’t come.

Espen gasped for breath and mowed with his arms until he slammed against the rock face when the rope finally pulled taut. Disoriented by the blow, he didn’t notice that somewhere above him, something gave.

After a dizzying drop, gravity sucked his body into the rocks. His heart, lungs and brains exploded with pain upon the impact. The initial shock was only a precursor to the stabbing that lanced through him, accompanied by a sickening crack.

Darkness engulfed him.

Someone calling his name eventually brought Espen back to consciousness. Sea water lapped at his right arm and ran cold into the back of his neck. He noticed there was something wrong with his legs – with his back. The uneven ridges in the stone accentuated the unnatural angle of his body.

Jens fell to his knees at his side, reaching for Espen’s harness.

‘Don’t touch him!’ Frode pulled Jens to his feet and pushed him away.  

The grey skies overhead turned black around the edges. Frode knelt over Espen, examining him with eyes only.

‘Espen. Look at me. Whatever you do, don’t move. Do you hear me?’

The pain made it impossible to say anything coherent. Pure misery clenched Espen’s throat shut. He lost his sight to the advancing darkness. Somewhere to his right, Frode spoke again.

‘Jens, call the emergency services. Tell them we need a helicopter for a high energy trauma. Quickly.’

Espen tried to dispel the blackout of his vision by moving his head. He needed to see what happened to his legs. Frode warned him again to hold still. With every heartbeat punctuating the shooting pain in Espen’s back and leg, it was too much to ask.

Frode resorted to holding Espen to the ground with a hand on his chest. Frode’s face had turned deathly pale under his summer freckles, and the whites of his eyes were visible all around his irises. ‘Espen! I told you to lie still!’

Terror began to force itself out of Espen in ragged sobs. The escalating pain was unbearable. He wasn’t built to withstand this.

Frode took Espen’s face between his hands. ‘Just breathe. Don’t cry. Hold on.’

‘How long?’

Frode briefly stroked Espen’s cheek with his thumb, then took off his coat to keep Espen warm.  ‘Help is coming. You’re going to be alright.’

Espen tried to calm his breaths, to ride out every wave of panic as it crashed over him, but his strength leaked out of him with every pull of the tide that tugged at his clothes. His consciousness eventually withdrew to block the pain, numbing his limbs and stilling his voice, until he was aware of nothing but the rapidly approaching end. His broken body welcomed death. Somewhere deep down, however, the essence of his being railed at the prospect.

‘Frode,’ Espen choked out. ‘Help me. I don’t-’

He was slowly coming undone, falling into a void with whirls of stars at the edge of his vision. The winds of time blew past him, creating colourful dimensions that darkened as they passed him by.

‘You feel this?’ The voice came from far away, its source beyond his grasp, stimulating his failing senses.

He gasped for breath. It felt somehow important that he replied.

‘Yes!’

‘This is your hand.’

His hand. He focused on the only sensation that tethered him, though he did not know to what, or why.

‘Listen to me. I’m getting you out of here alive. Do you feel this?’

Espen couldn’t escape the tide, the dark streams pulling him away. He felt his system fail, his endurance guttering out.

‘I can’t do this-’

‘Yes, you can! Do you feel this?’ Frode insisted, squeezing Espen’s upper arm hard.

‘Yes-’

‘Focus. Stay with me. If I say you’re going to get out of here alive, you are. Feel this?’

Pressure on his shoulder.

‘Yes.’ The repetitive pattern of the questions calmed him.

‘Good. Do you feel your face?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re alive. You’re not going anywhere.’ Frode turned away. ‘Jens, give me your knife.’

The survival knife with its ragged edge passed into Espen’s line of sight. Childish fears he’d buried for a decade hit him full force.

‘No.’ Espen looked between his brothers in confusion. ‘Frode, no… Jens…’    

Jens’ gaze slid from the knife in Frode’s hand to Espen’s face.

Espen struggled weakly, with panic rising in his chest.

‘Let the medics do that,’ Jens told Frode. ‘Can’t you see he’s frightened?’

Frode shook his head with grim determination. ‘We’ve got to do something about the bleeding.’

Pressure around Espen’s thighs and pelvis lessened when Frode cut him out of his harness. Jens averted his eyes when Frode tore the leg of Espen’s pants away.

‘Don’t worry, they can fix that,’ Frode muttered as he made a tourniquet out of the fabric and tied it around Espen’s upper thigh with a force that made Espen gasp for breath.

Suddenly, the whirring rotor blades of a helicopter became audible. Jens jumped up and hurried in the direction of the noise.

Espen surrendered to relief, to the hope that he’d somehow live through this. He let go of his stranglehold on consciousness, and the world shifted out of focus.

‘Hey!’ Frode called urgently. ‘Don’t you dare die now! Hey, Sheepie…’

The washing waves measured time in an abstract manner. Espen tried to count them in his head. The grey horizon grew brighter and rotor blades drowned out every sound.

Frode tangled their fingers together and squeezed once before letting go.

 

***

 

Tearing down the E6 with the midnight sun in his eyes, Frode followed the flight trajectory of the trauma helicopter as best he could on the motorway. The distance separating him from Espen caused a physical ache in his chest that he didn’t know how to relieve. It began as soon as the helicopter flew out across the Norwegian sea to clear the mountain range of Austvågøya, and refused to leave him since.

Frode met death at the end of a rope twice now. He hadn’t been prepared for a reunion today, for that familiar face of pain, and fear, and loneliness. The onset of death already created a multi-dimensional distance to the living in the process of dying, but having seen it before, Frode had been able to bridge that distance in time. Implored Espen to come back to him, to fight for the life that shock was slowly draining from his body.

It was selfishness that compelled Frode, first and foremost. He had all but dangled Espen as bait.

The fear and worry that gripped him painfully exposed his own hypocrisy. He had no right to these emotions, but whatever had happened between him and Espen in the past, that one moment of convergence on the brink of death changed everything.

For once in his life, Espen did as he was told. He resisted the call of death with his childish stubbornness until the trauma surgeon stabilised him enough for transport from Svolvær to the university hospital in Oslo.

The sound of a ringtone startled Jens from his exhausted sleep in the passenger seat. Frode met his eyes briefly before Jens picked up and put his phone on speaker.

‘Hello darling, I’m sorry I didn’t ring sooner. There are so many things happening at once here.’ Their mother’s voice sounded tense but composed.

‘How’s it looking?’ Jens asked.

Marit hesitated. ‘Not good. Espen’s got an instable spinal fracture, and of course there’s that terrible wound in his leg… The scan also showed that his shoulder fractured in four places.’

Jens squeezed the back of his own neck with a hand in a tell-tale gesture. ‘Fucking hell.’

‘How could this happen, Jens?’

‘He took this weird leap,’ Jens repeated, like he told her the first two times she asked. ‘The anchor didn’t hold.’

Someone addressed their mother on the other side of the line before she could say anything more. Frode couldn’t make out any of the conversation.

‘I don’t have long,’ Marit spoke again. ‘They’re preparing him for surgery right now. That wound needs to be closed before it gets infected.’

‘What about his back?’

‘There should be no further damage to his spinal cord now that he’s been admitted.’

‘Further damage?’

‘He says he’s lost the feeling in his right leg,’ Marit said uncertainly. ‘Whether that’s because the nerve has been damaged or it’s just blocked…’

‘How are you holding up, mum?’ Jens ventured.

‘To be honest, I'm relieved he made it this far,’ she answered. ‘I was terrified he would collapse on the flight. There's no talking to Stein, of course. He's taking this very hard.’

‘Yeah. We sort of promised we wouldn't push Espen off a cliff, didn't we?’

Frode inwardly cringed at the joking assurance Jens left their step-father with.

‘You’d do well to keep those kinds of comments to yourself in the future, Jens,’ Marit said flatly, ‘but no one's blaming you, do you understand?’

Frode and Jens exchanged a glance.

Silence save for the growl of the engine of Frode’s Volvo XC60 descended over the cabin after the call. Jens ran his hands across his ashen face. He had trouble keeping the horror out of his voice. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. I told him to get on with it, and he jumped…’

‘You couldn’t have known. Don't think for a second that you’re to blame for this.’

Jens threw his phone into the centre console. ‘You think we’re not to blame? We’ve been pushing his limits all week! We knew he wasn’t ready for this, and we knew that he’d try anyway! We should never have taken him. You should have said we didn’t want him there!’

‘Jens,’ Frode tried to reason. ‘It’s no use. What happened-’

Jens hit him in the shoulder, causing him to oversteer for a second. ‘Damnit, Frode, we  _let_  this happen! We were _waiting_ for something to happen to him!’

‘What do you want to hear, then? That I’m glad he won’t be following us around anymore for sure now? Do you really think that?’

Jens fell into an injured silence. Espen’s terrified face swam before Frode’s eyes. Sea water washing blood from the slippery rocks. The anchor tearing out of the wall under the pressure of Espen’s gravitational acceleration. The rain of dust and the tremendous impact. Blindly stumbling across the rocks back to the car with blood on his hands. Bloody seawater soaking the coiled ropes he carried.

Frode took an insane risk to overtake the car in front of them before entering the Korgfjell tunnel. The changing light drained colour from Jens’ features. Frode stared at the Satnav screen in the darkness of the tunnel. Thirteen more hours until their estimated arrival in Oslo. He was going to go insane.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far, I hope you're enjoying the book! Feedback is very much appreciated. I hope to eventually get the Dutch translation of From The Heights traditionally published, so leave a comment with what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

During the dim hours of the short summer night, where the twilight of the open road alternated with illuminated mountain tunnels, Frode battled the limits of his endurance until he couldn’t drive another kilometre. Somewhere alongside the Snåsavatnet, he pulled over for a fitful nap in the driver’s seat. Jens, who’d fallen asleep around midnight, urged him to trade places an hour later, and continued their journey somewhat rested.

Near the break of dawn, at a desolate gas station outside of Trondheim, Frode took over again to take his mind off their destination, and kept driving until even their former home town Lillehammer disappeared in the rear view mirror. He was grateful Jens did not ask him to stop at their mother’s house, but surrendered the wheel as soon as Jens offered to cover the last stretch of road to the capital. 

After a dull, grey morning of asphalt and pine forest vistas, Oslo sprawled out to the right of the E6 between the gently sloping mountains. Frode sat, nauseous with exhaustion but wide awake and restless, in the passenger seat while Jens navigated the city traffic. When their destination came into view, Frode flipped the sunshade down.

‘You’re still ugly,’ Jens said before Frode could glance into the mirror.

‘I know. You serve as a great reminder.’

There existed no doubt about their close relation. A similar genetic blueprint gave them their red hair, freckle pattern, and tall build.

Frode closed the sunshade without looking, and studied the rust-coloured dirt under his nails. ‘Do I have any blood left on me? I don't want to freak anyone out.’

‘No, I think you’re good.’

The parking garage with the helicopter platform on top lay directly on the inner city ring. Frode grabbed his bag and jumped out of the car as soon as Jens parked it in the first available spot. He snatched the key from Jens’ hand and pushed his brother ahead, through the airlift to the Emergency Room.

Frode halted in front of a sign with the routes through the hospital. ‘Surgery or Orthopaedics? Intensive Care?’

Jens shushed him with a gesture, and rang their mother to announce their presence. They waited silently until Marit’s footsteps sounded through the quiet hallway.

‘Jens? Frode?’

Jens spun around to locate her voice, and hurried towards her. He wrapped his long arms around their mother. Marit laid a hand against Jens’ cheek. She looked dignified and in control in a red dress suit that complemented her ginger hair but clashed with the blue plastic shoe covers visitors were obliged to wear.

Frode caught her eyes. ‘Where is he?’

‘Orthopaedics. Stein is with him.’

Frode followed the route to the ward without waiting for them. Passing brightly lit hallways, medical staff and patients in robes with his eyes on the signs, he finally found the room he was looking for.  

His stepfather slumped in a chair by Espen’s bedside and stared at the drawn curtains with unseeing eyes. His black-rimmed glasses lay on the nightstand, and his ashen, shoulder-length curls stuck up in an unkempt manner. It gave the impression he either hadn’t bothered to groom after he slept, or had not slept at all.

Frode approached Espen’s bedside with care. Espen slept. His angular, boyish face looked sunken and grey. The strands that escaped his long plait curled tightly around his forehead. His face had been cleaned, but his hair still seemed greasy and dusty. A sling strapped his right arm close to his chest; the left, covered in bruises and scrapes, was hooked up to an IV drip. Frode resisted the urge to touch Espen for fear of waking him.

‘How is he doing?’

Stein exhaled heavily. ‘Honestly, I have no idea. All this waiting makes no sense to me. That damn surgeon needs to hurry up.’

Frode nodded.

‘I wish I could trade places with him or something, you know?’ Stein continued. ‘I can't bear to see him like this.’

‘Is he in a lot of pain?’

‘He was pretty responsive this morning, but he's so high on morphine there's no telling how he's really doing. It's better that he sleeps, I think. The wait and the uncertainty are worst for him.’

A nurse in pristine white preceded Jens and Marit into the room. She announced in a quiet voice that Espen would go into surgery as soon as an operating theatre became available. Marit and Stein followed her out into the hallway to barrage her with questions. Jens remained. He sank into the chair Stein vacated.

Frode pulled up a second chair, and took the battered hand that lay on top of the covers.

Jens sighed. ‘I need a drink.’  

‘I'd better not start that.’

‘Don’t even think about it.’ Jens cast a wary look about before addressing Frode in a low voice. ‘I’m watching you.’

‘Figure of speech,’ Frode said with an expressionless face. ‘It’s been six years, Jens.’

The hand under his fingers moved. He quickly turned to Espen. Blond eyelashes slowly fluttered open.

‘Hi,’ Espen said in a hoarse voice. ‘Look, I’m still alive.’

Frode began to say something, but then Jens leaned forward. ‘Yes, you are. You’re indestructible!’

Espen had trouble speaking. ‘Wouldn’t call it that.’

‘They’ll fix your back in a moment,’ Jens tried to reassure him.

Espen’s hand tightened on Frode’s. ‘How?’

Jens got up. ‘I'll ask for you.’  

Espen’s breathing levelled out, and his grip weakened. Frode shot up from his chair. He tapped Espen’s cheek until he spoke again.

‘Will you stay with me?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I’m scared,’ Espen whispered. ‘D’you think that’s dumb?’

Frode ran a hand across Espen’s frizzy hair. Espen briefly closed his eyes under the touch. He didn’t need to ask what Espen was scared of. He suspected they feared the same things. That a second risky surgery would be too much. Complications. The conversation about liability that would undoubtedly follow this hospital stay.

Jens interrupted his thoughts with a story about orthopaedic implants that Frode barely registered.

He moved as through water when they came for Espen, only the promise to stay with him clear in his mind as he followed the staff that took Espen’s bed. He passively watched the doors of the OR-complex close behind them.

Jens came to sit with him on a bench in the hallway and rang his wife. Kristin already seemed well-informed about the accident as Jens tried to relay how they’d screw Espen’s spine back together in the hopes of restoring feeling to his right leg.

Jens read a message that came in after he ended the call. ‘Mum and Stein have food. Are you coming?’

Frode shook his head curtly. ‘I promised him.’

Jens squeezed his shoulder, stood up and disappeared.

Frode directed his gaze at the doors and waited, his whole being attuned to news about Espen, despite that fact that he harboured no illusions about the length of the operation.

The question why on earth he had refused to adapt his plans to Espen haunted him where he sat. Espen hadn’t been a bother, not really. He was slower and less experienced due to the ten year age gap between them, but he had done everything he could to prepare.

They should have chosen an easier route, or taken a day to recover after the incredible performances Espen had been delivering all week. Why had they wanted to discourage him from coming along another time so badly? Exhaustion provided Frode with a solid excuse to not go looking for the answer to that question.

Every time the doors of the OR-complex opened, his heartrate shot up enough to keep him awake a while longer. He lost the ability to track time when the battery of his phone died. His mother eventually came by to try and convince him  to go to the hotel where she’d booked an extra room for her sons. He didn’t go.

It was no use to Espen, with his back torn open under the hands of a surgeon, that Frode sat here. But he promised.

 

***

 

Blinding, fluorescent lights passed overhead at regular intervals. Espen clawed his way to consciousness as through thick fog, then drifted off again, unable to fully wake. Chaotic dreams blended with memories of endlessly falling and shattering into pieces, and a hand that did not let go.

He didn’t usually have trouble waking up, but hindered by the mist of general anaesthesia and the fearful realisation that upon waking he might need to reorder his entire existence, sleep was his best bet for now.

The low-hanging sun cast the hospital room in a golden glow when he opened his eyes. Rasping snores sounded from behind the curtain that shielded his bed. There was someone sitting next to him, he noticed with a little jolt that finally made him alert.

‘Hey, my sweet boy,’ said a voice. His father.

‘Pappa.’ Saying that word brought a certain comfort. As if he finally felt solid ground beneath his feet after all that falling.

Stein put down his tablet and transferred to the edge of the bed. ‘There you are! How are you feeling?’

A nurse checking his monitors helped adjust Espen’s bed to make talking easier. When Espen retched faintly, his father held a cardboard basin under his chin until the urge to puke eventually lessened.

Espen glanced around. A vague impression of feverish blue eyes lingered from before the surgery, but apart from his father he saw only three occupied beds. ‘Is Frode around?’

Stein gave him a drink of water from a small cup. ‘He fell asleep outside the recovery room. Jens took him to the hotel.’

‘Oh.’ Espen stiffly let his head fall back against his pillow. ‘How did the surgery go?’

‘The surgeon said there were no complications. There is a chance you'll recover fully,’ his father said carefully. He tucked an errant curl behind Espen’s ear.

Espen tried to ignore the mental image of himself in a wheelchair, his leg muscles atrophied with disuse. ‘How much of a chance?’

His father did not answer immediately, instead took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘I was so afraid I'd lost you.’

Between the nausea and the undercurrent of anxiety that niggled at him, Espen didn’t have the presence of mind to comfort his father. One salty tear left an itchy trail down his forehead when Stein leaned forward to kiss his hair and whispered: ‘I love you so much.’

Espen tried to wrap his arms around his father, but only succeeded in grasping a shoulder with his left hand. Even these small movements wore him out. Aided by the morphine pump next to his bed, he sank back into the fog. After an indeterminate amount of time he heard a nurse speak.

‘… understand that you are worried, but you have to leave now. Your son needs his rest, and so do the other patients.’

Espen let his head loll to the left. Something weighed down his left hand when he tried to move it. His mother gave him a tight smile when he met her eyes. She lifted his hand to her face and pressed a kiss on the back. Espen fumbled for something profound to say to her. All that came out was a vague: ‘Love you.’

She pet his hair. ‘Don’t strain yourself, sweetheart. I just wanted to say goodbye before we leave. I think only one of us will stop by tomorrow night, but Frode and Jens will be here to make sure you’ve got everything you need, okay?’

Espen succeeded in nodding.

‘It’s time,’ said the nurse.

Stein glanced at his watch with a frustrated noise. ‘I hate leaving you like this.’

‘Don't worry, pappa.’

Espen regretted waking up just as his parents left. Their sudden absence left his mind free to wander. Up until this moment, it hadn’t quite sunk in that he was trapped in the body that had taken him to the tops of Svolværgeita mere days ago. He had been so proud when Frode let him take the leap from one of the horns to the other and he succeeded. It felt like the world had been at his feet when he looked out over the village and the archipelago around it.

The next day he’d jumped to his own doom, severely misjudging the risk of going for that second anchor. Everyone would be affected by the consequences of his recklessness for a long time to come.

Espen resolved to apologise to his brothers when they returned in the morning. He should never have pressured them into taking him. They couldn’t care less about having him around, and they wouldn’t thank him for botching their plans and damaging their already tenuous trust. The IV stung his elbow when he covered his face with his hand. He felt so ashamed.

 

***

 

The idealistic image of Espen’s helpless innocence that the aftermath of the accident constructed in Frode’s mind had to make way for reality once again when Frode visited him first thing the next morning.

Frode had his reasons why bonding with his younger half-brother was so damn hard, and one of them was the fact that Espen flirted with National Socialism. He wore camouflage pants and shirts glorifying the Viking age, dyed his long hair black, and listened to the music of that murdering creep Kristian Vikernes. On top of that he was involved in a black metal band, which undoubtedly consolidated those detrimental influences.

It angered Frode to no end that Espen refused to change his ways, knowing full well that their mother was ashamed of his appearance. Unfortunately, Stein let Espen do as he pleased, behaving more like a peer than a father half the time.

Espen chewed on a piece of knekkebrød and listened with rapt attention to an old lady in the bed next to him. The parchment skin on her arms was covered in bruises caused by blood thinners, and there seemed to be something wrong with her legs as well. Espen’s face shuttered when he saw Frode. He whispered a greeting without interrupting his neighbour’s story.

‘… lost a brother your age in the war. He died in Russia, on the front lines,’ the old lady said.

‘In Russia?’ Espen asked around a mouthful of crumbs. ‘Kharkov?’

The old lady spoke with a vague absent-mindedness that reminded Frode of his late grandmother before she passed away from Alzheimer’s. ‘Yes, Kharkov.’

Espen lowered his cracker and  nodded at the chair next to him for Frode to take a seat. ‘I read somewhere that there used to be a panzer division where Norwegian-’

‘What was that, lad?’ she asked.

Espen raised his voice. ‘Did your brother happen to be in the Wiking panzer division?’  

‘Yes, the Nordland regiment.’ It seemed to pain her to speak about it. ‘He died in Russia. Near Kharkov. He was still so young.’

‘Did he join because of ideological reasons?’

‘Speak slowly, lad,’ the old lady implored.

‘Did your brother have a specific reason for joining the SS?’ Espen repeated at a volume that was probably audible down the hall.

‘Espen,’ Frode warned under his breath. ‘Tone it down.’

Espen ignored him.

‘He was supposed to get married after the war,’ the old lady told Espen, ‘but there was nothing left here. We had to fish for our own food, and keep animals in the house… I remember well, it was only in ’44 that we heard he had fallen. Those Russians killed him. He was so young. About your age.’

‘That’s terrible,’ Espen said. ‘It must’ve been difficult to pick up the pieces after the war.’

The old lady took a sip of coffee through a straw and let out a brittle sigh. ‘Yes, lad. You’ve lost so much, seen things…’

Espen forgot his cracker as he listened to her stories of how her community dealt with collaborators. A nurse eventually interrupted the conversation by telling him he would be going to Radiology in five minutes.

‘What’s happening?’ the old lady asked, back in the here and now.

‘I’m getting another scan.’

‘Well, good luck with that. You’re going to be here a while, aren’t you?’

‘Thanks. I think so.’

The old lady glanced at a note on top of her purse on the night stand.

‘My daughter’s coming to get me in a bit.’

‘Oh, good,’ Espen said sincerely. ‘I hope you’ll feel better soon.’

Espen had been a beautiful child, and though he couldn’t be called beautiful anymore on the other side of puberty, he’d kept his unruly curls and his enchanting smile. The old lady smiled back and waved at him when a logistics employee wheeled Espen’s bed out into the hallway. Frode kept pace with them.

‘In what universe is it acceptable behaviour to interrogate Alzheimer’s patients about war criminals?’ Frode snapped at him out of earshot.

Espen’s eyes widened. ‘She began! Besides, why can’t we talk about that stuff? It’s been ages! She probably wasn’t even allowed to mourn her brother properly during her lifetime. That doesn’t mean she’s not grieving him.’

Espen’s strange answer left Frode speechless for a moment. He supposed it was easy to lose sight of the nuances of peoples’ motivations during wartime when the north still dealt with the aftershocks of Nazi influence to this day. In a way, the people who chose to associate with it now were worse, fully conscious of past atrocities and the crimes against humanity their ideology inspired.

No brother of his would become another Breivik if Frode could help it.

‘How did you come by all those details, then?’ he asked, pressing for the truth about Espen’s fascination.

‘It was on my History finals.’

Under Espen’s direct gaze, the question of what would become of Espen’s study plans rose in Frode’s mind. The academic year began in a few weeks.

In the lift, Espen addressed him again, quietly. ‘Frode… I’m sorry about all this. Would it still be worth the trouble for you and Jens to go back?’

Frode opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He shook his head, shaken by the notion that Espen thought he’d be able to just brush this off.

 

***

 

Espen’s shame reached new heights when a pretty nurse showered him in all his battered nakedness. Blood crusted the sutures of his  gritty operation wounds, and his hair hadn’t been washed for a week. He couldn’t stop apologising to her about his disgusting state when weak protest got him nowhere, but someone had to do it. He couldn’t do anything himself.

‘I wish I had hair like yours,’ the nurse said, rubbing shampoo onto his scalp.

Espen lost her name as soon as she’d introduced herself - an after-effect of his concussion perhaps, or pure shyness. He forgot how badly it hurt to sit up straight as he studied her soft, light brown hair.

‘My brothers think I look like a sheep.’

‘I think you look like a boy.’ She rinsed the shampoo out of his waterlogged curls.

Espen smiled, not quite meeting her eyes, but he hoped she would gather that he appreciated that she was so nice to him despite her grim job.

His eyes followed the washcloth she scrubbed him with to the ragged gash in his left upper leg. Orthopaedic implants held the broken bone together, as well as some of his vertebrae. When they brought him into the hospital after a seven hour helicopter flight, Espen hadn’t thought that there was much hope of repair, yet here he sat, patched up like a ragdoll. 

The nurse rubbed a towel on his head. ‘There. Let’s get you dry.’

‘Thank you. It feels good to be clean again.’

‘It’s only going to get better from here,’ she offered.

Frode shot up to help her when she put Espen back to bed after the shower. Espen’s face burned while they dressed his uncooperative body. After the nurse left him, he regretted not asking her to help him braid his hair. It hung around his shoulders in fuzzy, half-dried clumps.

‘Frode?’ he asked carefully. ‘Mind helping me with my hair?’

Frode bent to rummage around Espen’s overnight bag. ‘Cut it off, you mean?’

Espen sighed inaudibly when Frode came to sit on the edge of the bed with a comb.

Being different, his best friend Daniel said every now and then, will only be accepted when it can be exploited or when you make yourself indispensable. Once, Espen had naively countered that there were people who accepted others being different, but when Daniel asked for examples, he could only name his father.

Daniel made himself indispensable by exploiting his talents for maths and programming, but Espen wasn’t certain in which category he fell, especially now. There was little that could be exploited about a paralysed nineteen year-old with only a couple of A-levels. 

‘You look like a girl,’ Frode said, not for the first time. ‘You’ll never get a girlfriend like this.’

‘I’ve had a girlfriend. Her name’s Linn. She went to videregående skole with me. If you actually came home every once in a while you’d know that.’

Jens appeared in the doorway with an armful of paper bags. ‘Oi, Frode, does that make you the only one who’s never brought a girl home?’

‘The assumption that I’d want to subject anyone to meeting you lot is flawed in and of itself,’ Frode said scornfully. The scar of his cleft lip became apparent even under his short red beard when he sneered like that. ‘What’s that smell?’

‘Sheep, I imagine,’ Jens said, ‘since you're up to your elbows in wet wool.’

Frode ran the comb through Espen’s hair in sweeping motions. ‘You want pigtails, Espen? So you can stab people to death in style? Light up the hospital chapel? Make some racist YouTube videos?’

‘You don’t still think I’m secretly a Nazi, do you?’

‘Not secretly,’ Frode said, tying off the tight plait he made.

‘Real quick, do you remember what Nazis did to disabled people?’

Frode’s eyes skipped to the wheelchair at the door.

Espen lowered his bed with the clunky remote. ‘I’m going to take a nap, see you guys later.’

He watched Jens draw Frode away from the bed with a hand on his arm, and tried to get comfortable. The row of staples that kept the edges of his leg wound together gave a twinge. He felt them out with his fingers. How much of a chance had his father said he had of a full recovery?

Attempts to move his dead leg yielded no results. Frustrated with the lack of response, Espen pinched the muscle of his outer thigh between his fingers. Not even digging his nails into the skin had any effect. He gave up, and began the challenge of extracting his phone and earbuds from the nightstand without getting his IV-line stuck.


	3. Chapter 3

‘D'you think our drummers are cursed, Marius?’

A hushed voice pulled Frode from his unintended nap in the chair by Espen’s bed.

‘Don't be an idiot, Daniel,’ said another in a posh drawl. ‘Say- hello?’

Frode rubbed a hand across his face and took in the young men at the foot of Espen's bed. The emaciated lad that had spoken gave Frode a haughty half-smile. His thin blond ponytail created a strange contrast with his black oxford shoes, pressed pants, and dress shirt.

The one called Daniel, however, drew all eyes. Espen’s elderly fellow patients cast wary looks over their tabloids at his jet black, hip-length hair. Despite the sunny weather, he wore a black beanie and high lace-up boots with his camo shorts and band shirt. A piercing in his chin marred a remarkably pretty face.

Daniel approached Frode, extending a hand. ‘You must be Frode.’

Frode shook it without getting up. ‘And who are you?’

Daniel shot Frode a sardonic little smile that curled the corners of his mouth. ‘You haven’t heard of me? I’m disappointed.’

Marius wrapped himself in aloofness as if it were a suit of armour. ‘We’re here to see Espen.’

In bed, Espen opened his eyes. His face lit up as if he couldn’t believe his good fortune. ‘Hey guys!’

‘For fuck’s sake, Espen! Your father scared me half to death with that call!’ Daniel exclaimed. He stepped over Frode’s legs and bent to give Espen a tender kiss on his forehead. ‘I can’t believe you were going to die without ever introducing me to your incredibly charming brother.’

Marius pulled up two foldable chairs. ‘How are you doing?’

‘Let’s say I'm not going to make it to the next rehearsal.’

Daniel let out a heartfelt sigh. ‘How did this happen, mate?’

When Espen only laughed awkwardly, he opened his worn messenger bag covered in black and white patches and pulled out a home-made card. The thick paper featured an abstract wolf in Viking-style artwork. Espen turned the card over with wonder in his eyes.

‘What's the prognosis?’ Marius asked.

‘The doctors are carefully optimistic. Both surgeries went as planned.’ Espen took a minute to read the texts inside the card. ‘Aw, thanks guys. Can you let everyone know I appreciate it?’

Since Frode moved out over a decade ago, he no longer kept track of who Espen hung out with. It had always been him and Jens when Espen was a child. Afternoons at home often found him standing around with his school bag, looking a little lost. Then he’d join his brothers at the table to do exercises meant to make up for the disadvantage of his dyslexia, or struggle through books too difficult for him while Frode drew up physics experiments and Jens balanced chemical equations. Frode didn’t remember any peers ever visiting the house except Stein’s piano students, whom Espen watched with a certain shy longing. During the rare occasions Frode came home from Stavanger he still had trouble shaking Espen off.

‘Daniel was just saying our drummers might be cursed,’ Marius said to get a laugh out of Espen.

‘How can I not?’ Daniel protested. ‘It’s been almost two years to the day!’  

Marius frowned in concern when Daniel suddenly excused himself and left the room, but then the IV-drip next to Espen began to beep loudly. Marius glanced around, and switched off the noise for the nurse who was busy tending to one of the other patients.

‘Thanks, Bergström,’ she called from the other side of the room. ‘Will you still be here on Monday?’

‘Yeah, I’ve got one more week. Internal medicine after.’

Espen smiled knowingly when Marius shuddered.

Frode wandered down the ward when Espen and Marius continued talking as if he wasn’t there. In a visitor bathroom at the end of the hall, he encountered Daniel again, who splashed his face with cold water at the furthest sink. He was still blotting his face with a paper towel when Frode washed his hands. Frode could tell he was upset.  

‘Let’s go get some coffee,’ he suggested.

Daniel took a sip from his scalding brew when Frode paid for four cups at the cafeteria. ‘You know what the problem is with hospital coffee? There’s not nearly enough moonshine in it.’

Frode barked a laugh. ‘You might be on to something there. Hey, do you know how Espen drinks his coffee?’

Marius accepted a cup from Frode with barely concealed surprise while Daniel stirred an unholy amount of sugar and milk into Espen’s coffee on the night stand.

‘So you are the ones corrupting my little brother,’ Frode said conversationally.

‘We’re part of a bigger whole,’ Marius corrected, ‘but yes.’

Daniel masked his earlier sadness with that sardonic smile of his. ‘Aren’t we doing a wonderful job?’

They kept up the somewhat juvenile banter until Marius reminded Daniel they needed to visit the university library before dinner. Espen gave them a little wave, IV tube swinging. He read the texts on the card again after they left.

‘Tell me about your band,’ Frode asked. ‘I don't think I got the memo that you managed to make some friends.’

‘Ha ha,’ Espen said sarcastically, but he did grab his phone to proudly conjure up a photo of them draped all over a worn sofa. On a wanton banner on the wall it read  _Banter for Odin and Boozing for Satan_. Frode took the phone while Espen introduced the other members of the band first: a skinhead, a short, Mediterranean-looking woman, and a heavily tattooed man Frode’s age.

 ‘… and you’ve just met Marius. He studies medicine.’

‘And that Daniel?’ Frode asked. He watched with a strange fascination how Espen slumped against him in the photograph, shrieking with laughter. ‘What’s his deal?’

‘He’s nearly finished his master’s in Computer Science. Wants to get his PhD after.’

‘Don't you feel incredibly dumb in their company?’

Espen looked past him. ‘I’m going to university, too,’ he said quietly.

‘Getting into university is one thing. Doesn’t automatically mean you’re going to do well.’

Anger distorted Espen’s face from one moment to the next. ‘Wow, thanks for the trust!’

Of course Jens and his wife chose that exact moment to enter the room.

‘Trust is something you have to earn,’ Frode said under his breath.

‘Frode, step outside for a second,’ Jens said from the doorway.

Kristin gave Frode a tight smile that did not meet her eyes in passing. She softened upon approaching Espen, and placed a kiss on Espen’s hand. ‘Hey sweetie, I'm so glad to see you up! What a scare…!’

In the hall, Jens yanked Frode along by the arm, squeezing hard with his long fingers. ‘I thought we had an agreement!’

Frode expelled the breath he was holding. ‘I don't know how to talk to him. He's so... different. Not like you and me.’

Jens was taking no prisoners today. ‘You’ve had nineteen years to get used to it. Get over yourself.’

 

***

 

Marit’s heels clicked across the linoleum of the quiet hospital room. The other patients read and watched TV with headphones on while Espen brooded under the covers.

‘Are you asleep?’ his mother whispered.

Espen lifted his head to be able to see her too quickly. He gasped for breath against the acute pain in his back, then brushed it off when his mother showed concern. ‘No. Just pretending.’

‘Pretending?’ Marit pulled the curtain between Espen and his new neighbour shut with a little yank. Her subtle perfume cancelled out the sterile hospital smell for a moment when she kissed him. ‘Espen...?’

‘I'm avoiding Frode.’

‘Is he being a little overbearing?’

‘You can say that again. I really regret being so careless, I do, but I can’t deal with him continuously ragging on me about how dumb I am. I know! I feel it in my entire body.’

Marit’s gaze wandered through the room. ‘If you have a problem with your brothers, you have to work it out with them. Just talk to them.’

‘Well, you asked,’ Espen muttered.

‘Listen, we need to discuss some practical stuff. Your studies…’

Espen let his breath escape through his nose.

‘Have you thought about cancelling your enrolment?’ his mother asked delicately.

‘Mamma, you don’t understand.’

‘I do understand, but let's be realistic. You can’t go live in Oslo in this state. In the best case scenario you're going to take the first step towards walking months from now...’

Espen studied the way his mother’s light foundation partly obscured the freckles on the side of her bold nose. He avoided eye contact to keep his disappointment from showing. ‘And in the worst case?’

‘You are the only one who can decide what that means for you. For now, let's just aim for next year, okay? You need to allow yourself the time to rehabilitate.’   

Espen nodded in silence. He couldn’t even eat dinner without Frode’s assistance, or go to the bathroom without calling a nurse. Recovery was lightyears away.

‘Don't let it get to you, sweetheart. There’ll be plenty of time to catch up.’ Marit pulled his laptop out of her bag, and placed it on his night stand.

Kristin came into the room. She laid a hand on his mother’s arm. ‘Marit? The resident was asking after you. I think she’s still in the hall.’

‘Right, I’d better go see her, then. Goodnight, Espen.’ Marit stood up.

‘Bye, mum. Thanks for coming to see me.’

She blew him a kiss from the doorway. ‘Don’t forget to inform your work.’

Espen conjured up a smile for Kristin.

‘I thought I’d come to say goodbye before we leave,’ Kristin said. ‘Don’t let those two push you around, alright? You can always call me if Jens misbehaves.’ She imitated the cracking of a whip.

Espen laughed. ‘I really appreciate that you came all the way to see me.’

‘Shall I give dad a hug from you?’ She bent over the bed to embrace him with difficulty, which hurt more than Espen cared to admit.

He adjusted his bed and set to work on the laptop when Kristin left. Typing with only his left hand slowed down his progress considerably.  

Frode silently entered the room after a while. Espen glanced up from his email.

Plucking at the short stubble in his neck, Frode hesitated to speak. ‘Mum said you were still awake. Can we talk?’

The low light over Espen's bed set the shadows under Frode’s tired eyes and pronounced cheekbones in contrast with his messy, fiery hair, that looked as if he’d run his hand through it too often today. Frode leaned forward to watch what Espen was doing. ‘What are you up to?’

Espen snapped the laptop shut in embarrassment. ‘Could you please give me some space?’

‘What are you doing, then?’

‘Cancelling my future, alright? Leave me alone!’

Frode tilted Espen’s chin with his hand so he would meet his eyes. ‘If you promise you'll call me when you need anything.’

Espen made a vain attempt to push him away. The only thing he needed from Frode was for him to fuck off with his stupid strong arms and his goddamned double master's degree. Frode caught his wrist and held it in a firm grip while despair and envy tore Espen’s composure to shreds. Espen clenched his jaw to hold back a scream.  

‘Do you promise?’ Frode pressed.

Espen's voice cracked in defeat. ‘Whatever.’

 

***

 

‘What do you mean, cancel his future?’ Jens demanded over their twin sets of footsteps echoing through the lobby of the hotel. ‘He's only postponing it a year, right?’

‘Can you say with certainty that he's going to be his old self a year from now?’ Frode fired back. ‘There's no telling what that leg is going to do.’

Jens considered it, and nodded. ‘And even if he makes a full recovery...’ He left unspoken what the prolonged pain and mortal fear Espen had to endure might have done to him.

‘He won’t, Jens.’ Frode dug up the letters from the doctor their mother had given him. ‘Even if his leg recovers - his back is fucked. He’ll never be the same, and he knows it.’

Jens’ eyes drilled into Frode’s head under the bright lights of the lift. Frode studied his brother via the mirror; a better version of himself in many aspects.

‘It hurts to see him like this, so crushed.’ The guilt over what Frode had allowed to happen refused dismissal to the void located somewhere inside his chest. It was as if little barbs anchored it in his mind.

Jens' pace slowed as he fished the key card out of his pocket to open the door. ‘It’s messed up, but we can't make this go away for him.’

‘I should be able to. I sent him up that damned wall, didn’t I?’ Frode sat down on the bed opposite Jens’ and rested his head in his hands.

‘I don’t want to be a dick, but I told you to take it easy with him that day. If you would’ve listened-’

Frode kept silent and tried to shut Jens out. The destructive anger his words evoked had nowhere to go, and turned on itself for lack of a target.

‘We have to live with the responsibility,’ Jens continued, ‘and Espen has to live with the consequences. It’s a miracle something like this didn’t happen sooner. Remember that one time we…’

His voice faded to the background as Frode automatically switched his phone and his wallet from his backpack to his pockets.

‘Where are you going?’ Jens asked.

‘Out.’ Out to drown six years of his best behaviour until he could no longer form any coherent thoughts.

Jens caught his arm before Frode could open the door. ‘Wait, I’m coming with.’

‘Kristin is not going to approve of that.’

‘Then stay. For me.’

Frode held his gaze for a long moment. He had to admit it was a better idea to stay at the hotel than to drink himself into a stupor in an unfamiliar city.

‘I’ll be back in a second. Promise.’

Jens allowed him to leave the stifling hotel room.

When Frode returned with his bag full of hard liquor, Jens’ red-gold eyebrows knitted together in suspicion.

‘This is enough to black out for three days.’

‘Incidentally, we still have at least three days to go before Espen gets discharged.’

‘Good point. Skål.’ Jens set a fifth of whiskey to his lips. They drank in silence for a while, mechanically passing the bottle back and forth.

‘Have you ever met Espen's bandmates?’ Frode asked. ‘Herr Doktor and L’Oréal Oslo were at the hospital earlier.’

Jens thought for a moment. ‘Yeah, Daniel and what’s-his-name. Mathias. No, Marius. Nice kids.’

‘You don't think they're a bad influence?’

‘Not those two. Rumour has it that the other guitarist had a dubious role in that extreme right political party. Vigrid.’

‘The skinhead? I knew it! Did I tell you I caught Espen running his mouth about the SS to an old lady?’

Jens snorted. ‘I don't think you need to worry about Espen feeling superior to anyone. We keep him with both feet on the ground. Literally.’

‘Do you think they’ll ditch Espen if he can't play in that band anymore?’ Frode asked hopefully. It would be the only good thing to come out of the accident.

‘Daniel won’t. Him and Espen are thick as thieves.’

Frode took the bottle from Jens’ hand for another drink, but it was empty. ‘You're not kidding around.’ 

Jens shrugged and kicked off his sneakers.

‘I said something to him, before you and Kristin got there...’ Frode began.

‘Spare me,’ Jens said ungraciously. He tossed his clothes on a heap and sprawled on one of the twin beds. ‘I've had about as much as I can take.’

The bedframe, rigid and cool against Frode’s back, slowly became the only thing he was aware of. The second bottle contained something else than whiskey. Frode barely registered the changing taste. As long as the alcohol took the sharp edges off his thoughts for a while.

‘I gave him too much rope,’ he confessed into the tense silence. ‘I didn’t notice he was stuck because I was talking to you.’

Jens didn’t reply, but Frode had no trouble visualising his judgemental expression.

‘He should never have been able to fall that far. Then maybe the anchor would’ve held.’

In the silence of the hotel room he heard Espen and Jens scream at him again.

_Frode, help me. I don’t want to die!_

_Frode, do something!_

‘I couldn’t. I couldn’t do a damned thing.’

However carefully he tried to set the bottle down next to him, it still fell over.

‘I can’t deal with this,’ Frode whispered. ‘Jens… I can’t live with myself.’

 


	4. Chapter 4

Espen had been staring out the window for an hour, his mood as bleak as the music that sounded in his ears, when someone appeared in his peripheral vision. He yanked out his earbuds. ‘Daniel!’

‘Hi... How are you, mate?’ Daniel took the chair between the window and the bed. He drew his long hair into a tail at the nape of his neck, but released it without using the hair tie around his wrist. ‘How are you really doing?’

Espen shrugged with one shoulder. ‘I don’t want to complain. It could’ve been worse.’

‘I know you don’t, but talk to me.’ 

‘My mum was here last night to remind me I had to cancel my plans for university.’

Daniel nodded gravely.

‘I’m so embarrassed that I screwed up. I’ve forever been trying to catch up with everyone, and now I can’t even start my studies for another year.’

‘You didn’t screw up. It was an accident,’ Daniel corrected gently. ‘No one wanted this to happen. But I get that it’s frustrating as hell.’

Espen remained silent for a moment. ‘I don’t know how to undo all this damage.’

‘You might not be able to. But I’m here for you, whatever happens, whatever you need. Alright?’

‘Thanks. You’re the best.’

Daniel laughed softly, then winked. ‘I try to be.’

Something that had been eating at Espen since the day before pushed to the forefront of his thoughts. ‘What was that cursed drummer thing about yesterday? When you up and left like that?’

Daniel grimaced. ‘Our previous drummer Oskar walked into the Drøbaksund two years ago.’

Espen stared with open mouth at Daniel’s suddenly grief-stricken face. The emotion he read there seemed almost too private for him to witness, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

‘I guess I'm still not over it.’

There was no getting over that kind of loss. Espen saw it in his mother. In her the grief was old, older than him, but kept casting a shadow across her life. He held out his left arm, the full extent of his physical capabilities. ‘I’m so sorry. If you want a super awkward hug, you’ll have to come and get it yourself.’

Daniel solemnly knelt on the floor by the bed so Espen could give him a squeeze. ‘This time of year is always hard. The anniversary of his death is next week.’

Espen pressed a kiss on top of Daniel’s head, never mind that he wore a beanie. ‘Want to talk about something less depressing?’

Daniel nodded. ‘Jostein had a go at me because I missed a mythology reference the other day, but then refused to tell me. Said I needed to ask you how Odin got his eight-legged horse, because you tell it better.’

Espen couldn’t help but grin. ‘You don’t know Sleipnir’s origin story? You’re in for a treat.’

Daniel held up his hands. ‘What can I say? I’m late to the party.’

Espen sat back against his pillow and cleared his throat. ‘Listen up. This myth is called: Odin is a stingy motherfucker and Zeus does not have exclusive rights to bestiality. You know who Zeus is, right?’

‘No.’ Daniel swept his hair over his shoulder and studied the ends. ‘If it wasn't in the Bible, you can safely assume I haven’t heard about it.’

‘Someone does go to Greece in the New Testament, so he has to at least have an honourable mention. Have you been asleep during sermon?’ Espen teased.

‘Whenever I had the chance, yeah.’ Daniel reached out to give Espen’s leg a mean pinch, but caught himself.

It had taken Espen half an hour to get over his fit of laughter when he discovered that Daniel’s parents took their host of children to church in  _bunad_ on heydays. Marius never got tired of telling the story of seeing Daniel walk through town in regional costume during the time they both still lived with their parents. The thought of Daniel’s tortured face almost made Espen wish his parents had visited church with him. That, and the thought of Daniel’s three beautiful sisters, who looked simply enchanting in their embroidered dresses.

‘So. Once upon a time, Thor went on a trip, and the other gods decided they wanted a wall built around Åsgard for protection when he wasn’t around. But the thing about Odin, however, was that he was sure as hell not going to build that huge wall with his own hands. So he thought to himself: What is the most cost efficient way to get this wall up as quickly as possible? Because the title already suggested it: Odin was cheap, and he didn’t exactly have patience in spades. So that was where Loki and his perpetually bad ideas came in…’

Daniel carefully migrated onto the bed with Espen, as if to soak up the story through osmosis. Due to his strict Christian upbringing, Daniel wasn’t overly familiar with the cultural heritage Christianity had wiped out. As a self-proclaimed expert on Viking age history, Espen saw it as his duty to fill the gap in Daniel’s knowledge bit by bit.

‘… so eventually, Odin agreed with the master builder that he would get the wall for free if it wasn’t finished within nine months. But the master builder was not an idiot, and asked what he would get when he made the deadline. For some reason Odin ended up promising him not only Frøya, the most beautiful goddess, but also the sun and the moon. As long as he did not have to pay actual money.’

‘I bet Frøya wasn't happy.’

‘No sir! Odin and Loki tried to reassure her, but there was one thing they had not planned for: the master builder's mighty stallion Svaðilfari…’

 

***

 

The splitting headache that had accompanied the return of his consciousness made Frode long for his bed. Not the one at the hotel that had Jens in it now, but his own in Stavanger – or rather, the one at the oil rig he worked at, where the continuous noise of the compressors and sheer exhaustion usually allowed him to sleep without dreaming. It wasn’t the first time he regretted the length of his shore leave.

The brightly lit hallway of the Orthopaedics ward hurt his eyes, but laughter spilling out of the room gave him hope that he would find Espen in a better mood than yesterday.

Espen’s friend Daniel was back. He’d kicked off his boots – patent leather platforms with an impossible amount of buckles today – and joined Espen on the bed. He played with Espen’s smartphone and listened to a strange story Espen told about gods and giants and impossibly strong horses. Frode quietly took the chair to sit with them.

‘... a plan to distract Svaðilfari from his work. Loki turned himself into a mare-’

‘Espen, no,’ Daniel interjected with horror in his voice.

Espen cackled with glee. ‘Oh yes! Svaðilfari tore his bridle and escaped after Loki, into the woods. So Loki ran through the forest with the horse’s breath hot in his neck, thinking: Something went wrong here. Where did I sign up to get boned by a giant-’

‘Yeah, right!’

‘I’m not making this up!’ Espen said. ‘But anyway, Thor came back in the nick of time. When he got wind of the fact that there was a giant in Åsgard, he stomped down to the building site, got out his hammer Mjølnir and smashed the master builder’s skull in, and that was the end of it.’

Daniel shook his head. ‘This makes no sense. You sure you read that right?’

‘I know my Old Norse. Sort of. Anyway, eleven months later Loki gave birth to an eight-legged foal called Sleipnir, which admittedly grew into the best horse among gods and men.’

Daniel pondered it with a perplexed expression, then gave Espen’s phone back. ‘Well, that was all the nonsense I had time for today. I made you a playlist for when you get bored. See you!’

He jumped down from the bed, zipped up his boots, and snatched up a guitar case that had CARCHOST scrawled on it in white paint. He gave Frode a polite nod before disappearing.

Espen’s smile melted away when he accidentally caught Frode’s eyes. ‘Hi,’ he muttered. ‘I’m sorry about last night. I was being a total baby.’

Frode didn’t want his apology. ‘I understand why you're upset.’

Espen straightened up a little. ‘I'm over it. It's just school. I'm still here.’

Frode thought his face looked haunted by something more profound than pressure to achieve. ‘That is the most important thing, but what makes you say that right now? You don't need to trivialise how much it blows just because you didn't die.’

‘Daniel told me the previous drummer died three years ago. Killed himself. Dan looked so sad about it, and I didn’t even know.’

‘Let it go,’ Frode snapped. ‘If Daniel never told you about it, it’s not your grief.’

Espen complied by falling silent.

Frode took a steadying breath. ‘I was thinking – it might be a good idea to reconsider your study plans now that you have another year. Scratching in the dirt looking for old crap isn’t a real career, now, is it?’

Espen’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Old crap? The roots of our civilisation! And technically, you scratch in the dirt looking for old crap, too.’

Frode barked a laugh. Having the technical responsibility over an oil rig was a completely different story from picking mouldy mittens out of glaciers in his mind. Semantically, however, he couldn’t argue. ‘Old crap that makes the world go round. Old crap that brings in a ton of money.’

‘Yeah, yeah. So where is doctor Stedjeberg the younger?’ Espen asked, subtly referring to the fact that Jens obtained his PhD earlier that summer, like their mother had some twenty-five years prior. Frode couldn’t tell for sure if it was a taunt aimed at his own lack of a doctorate degree, but that was how Espen got under your skin.

‘Jens had a rough night.’

‘Is he ill?’ The innocent concern on Espen's face was almost laughable.

‘He is now... Puked all over his bed last night. It went on so long that I was half-inclined to park him in the tub for the night and just hose him down in the morning.’

Espen wrinkled his nose. ‘But you didn't?’

‘No. I cleaned up his mess and put him back to bed - my bed - because I'm an awesome brother.’

‘Yeah,’ Espen agreed without thinking. ‘Then what did you do?’

Frode didn’t remember. It had taken him a while to find his way back to the hotel from the harbour district that morning. ‘I crammed some painkillers down his throat in the hopes his day wouldn't be completely miserable.’

‘Good idea.’ Espen raked the fingers of his left hand through his frumpy, faded black curls and idly detangled the strands with the patience of someone who had nothing better to do. He bit the split end off a hair.

‘Gross, Espen.’

‘Quit bitching. You don’t have to sit here looking at me.’ Espen stubbornly carried on with his bad habit. ‘You could go see the city, or go home....’

Frode wasn’t interested in the city, and going home was not an option. It was his responsibility to oversee Espen’s hospital stay and bring him back to Vingnes when he got discharged. There was nothing for it but to return to the hotel.     

Stepping into the musty room Jens still slept in, Frode opened the curtains and window to let in some fresh air. ‘Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.’

‘Don’t be so hateful...’ Jens moaned. ‘How are you even functioning right now?’

‘This right here is willpower.’

The word  _habituation_  hung unspoken between them.

Jens propped himself up on his elbow. Frode watched with a mixture of amusement and sympathy as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed with the agility of an eighty year old man. He maintained a vertical position for all of five seconds before he fell back onto the bed.

‘Get up, weakling.’

Jens threw an arm across his face and groaned. ‘Not today. Just leave me here to die.’ 

In a sudden fit of blind rage, Frode grabbed Jens by his white tank top and lifted him a foot off the bed. ‘Shut your mouth! Is that really what you want to say to me right now?’

Jens paled, and clasped Frode’s wrists to keep from falling back and tearing his stretched-out shirt further. ‘What the hell, Frode? I'm sorry, alright!’

Coming back to himself, Frode tossed Jens back onto the mattress. He left the room abruptly to prevent further escalation, and descended the stairs into the gloomy hotel parking garage. The sounds of cars coming and going echoed between the concrete walls. Frode’s own footsteps trailed him until he found where Jens parked his XC60. The camping gear still lay haphazardly through the back of the car, the same way they’d tossed it before leaving Svolvær. Remembered panic gripped Frode as soon as the memory of that moment intruded on his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried to push it away.

_‘Jens, you need to ring mum. She needs to know.’_

_Jens zipped up the tent bag as far as it would go, and rose slowly to extract his phone from his pocket. ‘Can’t you do it?’_

_‘I’m busy,’ Frode snapped. He willed his hands to stop shaking long enough for him to enter the address of the hospital into the Satnav without any mistakes._

_Dialling the number, Jens crowded Frode where he sat in the driver’s seat, seeking support in proximity the way he used to when they were children. Frode could hear their mother’s voice through the speaker of Jens’ phone._

_‘Jens? What is it, darling?’_

_Jens pushed the phone into Frode’s hand and wordlessly shook his head._

_Frode took a breath. ‘Mum, there’s something-’_

_‘Are you alright? Jens?’_

_‘Mum, something happened to Espen.’_

_Marit remained awfully silent._

_‘He fell. He’s not okay.’_

_‘How bad is it? Has he had medical attention yet?’_

_‘He’s on his way to Oslo in a trauma helicopter. Please go see him. I’m not sure if he’s going to-’_

_‘I’m on my way.’ Before Marit hung up, Frode heard her call Stein in a hesitant voice._

_‘Mum’s going to Oslo now.’ Frode stood up and gripped Jens’ shoulders. ‘Jens. Jensie. Hey. Did you hear me?’_

_‘What if he dies?’ Jens asked. ‘What will they do with him? What if mum gets there and there’s blood everywhere and Espen is dead?’_

_Frode suppressed the urge to throw up out of sheer misery. ‘Don’t think about it.’_

Frode heard his own voice repeat those words back at him through the silent parking garage. As it were, he relived the accident and the mad dash across the beach to get on the road far too often in the past few days.

He opened a car door to clean up the mess. Halfway through rolling up the last sleeping mat, a little book in the pocket of the door where Espen sat during their journey to Lofoten drew his attention. He picked up the slim English fantasy paperback and turned it over in his hands. A glance at the title evoked an incredulous laugh. He pocketed the book, and made his way back to the hospital.

Espen snoozed in cold light, the white sheets hanging off the bed. The ragged edges of the stapled wound on his thigh were red and raw. Frode saw again the shattered bone sticking through the skin in his mind’s eye, and shook off the lingering horror and wrongness of seeing Espen’s bodily integrity so violated.

When he lowered himself into the chair by the bed, Espen opened his eyes and moaned. Frode pushed a sweaty strand of hair out of Espen’s face to take a look at his feverish eyes.

‘I feel like shit,’ Espen said weakly.

Frode fished the book out of the back pocket of his jeans in the hopes of distracting him. The paperback looked fairly untouched. ‘I found this in the car. Shall I read it to you?’

Espen closed his eyes and nodded.

Frode opened the book at the first chapter, and read him Terry Goodkind’s  _Debt of Bones_  until his voice was raw.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Espen’s big grey eyes followed Frode’s every movement from up close as Frode tilted his chin and scraped a razor along the underside of his jaw, carefully navigating the sharp angle of his Adam’s apple. Espen’s sudden dependence forced a level of intimacy that hadn’t existed between them for over a decade, and it estranged Frode to see him so changed from the pure, unblemished child he had been.

When Espen was little, Frode regularly had to step in and take him off Stein’s hands when he had to play an evening recital and Marit took too long getting home from work. While Jens hung in front of the TV, Frode fed Espen at the table, gave him a bath, and read him a bedtime story before he finally got around to taking care of himself and Jens. Excitable as he was, Espen would never stay in bed on those nights. He climbed back out of his toddler bed as soon Frode made his way downstairs, and stood quietly in the doorway, blinking against the light with his faded stuffed bunny in hand. Frode frequently cursed that little usurper with his stupid, angelic curls as he carried him back upstairs to read The Troll Book a third time. When he sat back down with his reheated food he sometimes wondered why their mother had wanted another child with that man. She clearly had no time for it. She didn’t even have time for him and Jens. 

‘You want to try brushing your own teeth, or shall I do that, too?’ Frode asked, cleaning the razor.

‘Piss off.’

‘There was a time when you used to love nothing better than have me do everything for you. I think I tied your shoelaces until you were about seven.’

Espen did a terrible job of brushing his teeth with his left hand, knocking the toothbrush into his gums with unpractised movements, but Frode let him try until it was time to wheel him back to the room for what was hopefully the last visit from the surgeon. A gaggle of interns already loitered around Espen’s bed.

The surgeon closed the curtain halfway when he made his way over. ‘Good morning, Espen. How are you today?’

‘I’m well,’ Espen lied politely.

‘That’s what I like to hear.’

Among the interns Frode spotted Espen’s friend Marius, who wore a white coat over his stark black ensemble. Marius and Espen exchanged an unreadable glance while the surgeon inspected Espen’s medical file. Espen fidgeted under the objectifying looks of the interns, vulnerable and naked in only his underwear, though he meekly underwent the examination that one of them performed. The clumsy touches to his swollen shoulder visibly hurt him where purple bruises covered the entire inside of his upper arm. When the surgeon asked, Espen told him with a closed expression that he had no improvement to report in his paralysed leg.

After inspecting the back surgery scar, the intern brought up the state of Espen’s leg wound, which looked as inflamed as it had the day before. As the surgeon quizzed the students about the treatment of the infection and they fell over each other trying to supply the correct answer, Espen shot Frode a disappointed look. He’d hoped to go home today.

Frode got up from his perch on the window sill when the surgeon and his following moved on to the next patient. He helped Espen into a t-shirt with all the care he could muster, and tucked him in. The grateful smile that lit up the space between their faces moved him unexpectedly. On impulse, he brushed a loose strand of hair out of Espen’s face.

Marius hung back when the surgeon stepped out onto the ward. ‘If you’re up for visitors you need to answer the messages in the group chat.’

‘I used up all my data last night,’ Espen said.

Marius extracted his phone from his pocket and handed it to Espen, who typed a series of messages with half an eye on Marius’ supervisor.

‘Thanks.’ Espen gave the phone back.

‘Hang in there.’

After Marius left the room behind his fellow students, Espen pulled a face. ‘D’you think I would’ve been allowed to go home if not for that infection?’

Frode shrugged.

‘I’m getting pretty sick of lying around here.’

‘Shall I take you downstairs for a bit? Or outside?’ Frode offered.

Espen shook his head.

There wasn’t much to do outside, anyway. It was cold, overcast and damp. Frode took out his phone to call his mother. She didn’t pick up, so he sent her a message about the extension of Espen’s hospital stay instead. As he typed a post-scriptum asking whether Jens had made it home okay the other day, the pulsing noise of an approaching helicopter began to drown out that of the city around him. An unwarranted spike of adrenaline accelerated his heart rate until his breath came short. His hands began to shake so badly that he could barely hang on to his phone.

_Landing on the beach some hundred metres from where Frode tried to keep Espen from succumbing to shock, the helicopter began to power down. Jens struggled to meet it at a run through the loose sand and the massive air displacement of the rotor blades. He beckoned the trauma surgeon to follow him, and led the way across the boulders to the foot of the rock face._

_It was taking too long. Espen’s eyes unfocused again. Frode felt the panic rise in his throat._

_‘Hey! Don’t you dare die now! Hey, Sheepie…’_

_Espen no longer responded, not even when Frode squeezed his hand. Frode released it, letting his training take over when the surgeon knelt by Espen’s side and looked to him._

_‘Nineteen year old male, fell from about a ten metre height. Shattered femur, complicated fracture, lost an unknown quantity of blood, in and out of consciousness… No pre-existing conditions or allergies–’ His voice wavered. ‘Please help him.’_

***

 

‘Why do all your friends look like they’re on welfare?’

Espen shot his brother and indignant look. The comeback he had in mind, about the conspicuous lack of friends in Frode’s life, would probably not be well-received.

‘That’s just how they like to look when going out,’ Espen said defensively. ‘And… birds of a feather, I suppose.’

‘You expect to end up in the gutter, too?’

‘They both have a job. And I-’ There was no more time to argue. Espen raised his hand in greeting to Jostein and Inger, who cast searching looks around near the entrance.

‘Hi sweet baby! Look at you, you look like hell!’ Inger bent over his wheelchair to take his face between her hands.

‘Yeah, it takes some getting used to,’ Espen said with an unusual awkwardness.

Frode stood up to shake Jostein’s outstretched hand.

‘Been a while, Stedjeberg,’ Jostein said, to which Frode only gave him a flat stare. ‘Mesna, class of 2003?’

Frode turned Jostein’s hand over to study the tattoos covering him from the knuckles upwards.

‘Malmin,’ he realised. ‘Did you run out of paper, that you felt the need to draw on yourself?’

Jostein laughed. ‘I still draw on anything and everything, yeah. Made it my day job. What do you do these days?’

‘I’m an engineer for Statoil.’

‘Cool,’ Jostein said. Espen was willing to bet he found it everything but. Jostein extracted a strand of hair stuck in the spikes on his sleeveless denim jacket. ‘Funny, I never realized you were related to our band baby.’

Frode nodded curtly, his body language signalling imminent departure. ‘Call me when you need me, Espen.’

Jostein stared after him as he disappeared outside. ‘Not much has changed in eleven years. He’s still as withdrawn as in school.’

Espen suspected he remembered the Frode of eleven years ago very differently. His brother had a way of making himself heard at home, was dominant and aggressive towards everyone but their mother. In the last months before he moved away for university, especially, he’d been insufferable. Negativity filled the spaces he entered as much as his intimidating posture did. The way he stomped the snow off his boots when he came home from school in the afternoons was often indicative of his mood. Espen learned quickly not to get in the way when Frode and Jens came to blows over the most trivial things, and the shouting and dull thuds shook the new house on its foundations. Stein always tried to talk to him afterwards, asking whether his finals were stressing him out or whether he needed help planning his move to Trondheim. Frode never needed any help, seemed in control of everything. Except his rage.

Stein occasionally joked to Espen that puberty might change him the same way. Espen had no idea what was supposed to be funny about that. Frode scared him, and he never knew when he was going to be on the receiving end of Frode’s anger again.

The day Frode left he was no longer angry. Mum was proud of him, Jens a little envious, and dad relieved. When Frode came home for the first time in March of the new year,  _that_  was when he’d become withdrawn. He became more quiet with every diploma he brought home to their mother. Espen only heard he had a job when Frode had already returned from the safety management training in Scotland.

Inger sat down next to Espen and smoothed the pleats in her PVC skirt so that it covered the lace edges of her stockings. Whatever Frode said, Espen thought she looked nice. He struggled to keep his gaze away from her plunging neckline.

‘Tell us what happened, then. We heard some stuff from Marius, but you know how he always gets mired in medical lingo…’

‘Ah, I broke a couple of things. My back. That shoulder. My left leg. And I can’t feel that leg anymore.’

‘Not at all? Oh sweetie, I’m sorry.’

‘Are you guys the only ones going to see Shining tonight? Espen quickly asked.

‘Well, Arvid’s got no money, Marius no time, and Daniel time nor money because he replaced his entire wardrobe to avoid finishing his thesis…’

Espen picked at the worn arm rest of the wheelchair and thought about the implications for his social life and place in the band in case he would stay bound to it.

‘Are you alright, Espen?’ Jostein asked after a while.

‘I don’t feel so good,’ Espen said truthfully.  

Inger laid a hand on his. ‘What’s on your mind?’

‘Honest? Whatever will be left of me when I-’

‘When you remain paralysed? Inger asked cautiously.

She and Jostein met his eyes, but neither pretended to have an answer to his question.

‘The only advice I can give you is not to give in to those thoughts,’ Jostein said. ‘Fight for your recovery; you can always keep improving.’

Inger squeezed Espen’s hand. ‘And know no one will love you any less.’

Frode entered the hospital moments before Jostein and Inger left. He brought Espen back to the ward.

‘You lasted a long time. I thought you’d have already wanted to be in bed,’ Frode said, pushing the wheelchair into a lift after Espen said his goodbyes. 

‘I sure am ready for it.’ 

‘What on earth do you have to talk about with them? They have ten years on you.’

‘Oh, you know,’ Espen said lightly. ‘Disability benefits. Welfare. What I can expect from the future if I don’t get better.’

That shut Frode right up.

 

***

 

‘The doctor will send another letter to Espen’s physician in… Lillehammer, was it?’

Frode nodded. He stuffed Espen’s discharge letters in his bag.

‘I’ll walk with you to say goodbye.’ Sigrid, Espen’s favourite nurse, accompanied him to Espen’s room.

The blaring of music through bad quality earbuds became more audible the closer they got. Espen lay on top of the covers of his unmade hospital bed. The black capri shorts he wore covered the scar on his upper leg, and the bruises on his calves had yellowed. Espen’s eyes moved rapidly under his closed eyelids. He seemed to be asleep.

Sigrid touched Frode’s arm. ‘Must’ve been a great comfort that you could be here for him all the time.’

‘Probably not as much as it seems,’ Frode muttered. He lowered his eyes when her gaze lingered.

‘He’s really into music, isn’t he?’ Her expression had something tender about it. Strangely, Espen seemed to inspire that sentiment in a lot of people.

‘He drums in a band.’

‘Oh.’ She cast a pained look at Espen’s leg. It lay there uselessly, as if it were no longer part of him.

‘Have you ever seen a full recovery in cases like this?’

She was still young, early twenties perhaps, but working for the academic hospital she probably saw plenty of horrific accidents.

‘I have to say, I don’t usually keep track once the patients go home. The turnover rate is pretty high here.’ She took a pen and paper from the pockets of her uniform, and wrote down a phone number. ‘Why don’t you keep me posted how things go once you get back home? Do you live in Lillehammer, too?’

Frode accepted the note. ‘Right. No, I don’t.’

‘Espen!’ Sigrid called softly. ‘Wake up, sleepyhead. You’re going home.’

Espen took out one earbud. ‘Yeah, thanks for your excellent care, Sigrid…’

While Espen went on about how badly he wanted to go home and see his dog, Frode emptied the night stand and the small wardrobe in the bag. He pushed a wheelchair up to the bed.

‘You need any help with that?’ Sigrid asked.

‘It’s fine, I’ll manage.’

Frode bent over the bed and slid an arm underneath Espen's knees. Espen laughed nervously and pulled his upper body up enough to make room for Frode's other arm.

‘Tell me when it hurts. We’ll find another way.’ Frode took care not to catch Espen's loose hair between them and lifted him off the bed with a grunt of effort. He needed all the strength he could muster to manoeuvre Espen into the wheelchair; without the control over his body, Espen was over seventy kilos of dead weight. Frode raked the hair out his eyes and straightened his back. He dumped the bag in Espen’s lap.

Sigrid took the hair tie from Espen’s wrist to fix his fluffy curls in a ponytail. ‘Take care, Espen. Bye Frode.’

Frode pushed the wheelchair down the ward with a quiet ‘goodbye’. Espen began to titter about the awkward exchange as soon as they were out of earshot.  

‘If you get smart with me I’ll push you into a ditch and leave you there.’

Frode made the wheelchair suddenly veer off their path. Espen shrieked with laughter.

Shoving him into the passenger seat had Frode breaking a sweat. He only now fully realised how much of a logistic problem Espen’s disability was going to be once they were home. This would be a disaster for their parents.

Espen, struggling with the seat belt, got his right arm stuck and gave up. ‘Can I put on some music?’

‘Sure, turn on the radio.’

Espen let out an unhappy sound.

Frode sighed. ‘Fine, but throw in some other things than your National Socialist Depressing Suicidal whatever the fuck. I’m not listening to Carchost for two and a half hours on end.’

Espen fixed him with a wide smile that lit up his entire being. ‘You know the name of my band!’

‘That Daniel has it in enormous letters on his guitar case. How could I not know?’

Espen played a song from his MP3-player over the speakers that blessedly had clean vocals. He sang along to the grammatically incorrect English lyrics that made him grin like an idiot, something about how time brought death as well as healing. Shortly after they exited the city, he fell asleep. Frode turned down the volume, and drove on in near silence.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Espen instinctively woke when Frode left the E6 at the exit to Vingnes. They were almost home. Pain filtered into his awareness with a slight delay. He needed to get out of the car as soon as possible. Frode took the first hairpin corner up the mountain with care, but every bend in the steep, winding road was one too many.

Frode shot him a glance. ‘Hanging in there?’

‘Hmhm.’

Thankfully, the stretch of unpaved road that followed the level street lined with silver birches was a short one. Gravel crunched underneath the tires when Frode parked his car on the sloping driveway leading up to the house.

‘There. We made it.’

Espen pressed his lips together. Despite what he told Sigrid, he wasn’t all that eager to be home. The hospital had been the right place to be for him. The nursing staff there got paid to take care of him, so he did not feel too guilty about asking them for help. But who would help him at home? And what could he offer in return? How long could anyone keep up this level of care before getting sick of him?

Frode surveyed Espen with a pensive expression. ‘You ready to get out of the car? This might be a little unpleasant.’

Espen bit the inside of his cheek when Frode hoisted him out. He got a brief glimpse of the darkly forested peak looming beyond the house before Frode’s broad back, and then the white wooden panelling of the house, obscured it.

Holding his breath as he carried Espen up the stone steps to the front door, Frode tightened his arms around Espen’s ribcage and knees. It painfully compressed Espen’s shoulder against his chest, adding to the sharp belt buckle poking him in the side.

Behind the front door, Spøkel’s tail beat a dull rhythm on the door mat as she barked. Frode shifted his balance and knocked the toe of one of his hiking boots against the door, hard and impatient.

The music that sounded from within the house stopped. As soon as Espen’s father opened the front door, their Swiss shepherd shot out, jumping up at them as if she hadn’t seen them in a year. Stein made a grab for her collar, but Spøkel sidestepped him to run a lap around the lawn. She tried to squeeze back into the hallway between Frode’s legs.

‘Grab that dog before I drop your son, Stein,’ Frode said in a strained voice. He crushed Espen to his chest in an attempt to shield him from the dog's enthusiasm. Espen could smell his clean sweat breaking out under the scent of his deodorant.

The shepherd barely let Stein restrain her, and her whole body shook with her tail-wagging. Espen smiled at the sight. He knew it didn’t help, but he called Spøkel anyway. ‘Hey sweetheart! Who's a good girl?’

Spøkel reared up, mowing her front paws in the air.

‘Damnit, Espen,’ Frode panted. ‘If she hurts you, it’s your own fault.’

Frode lowered him onto the sofa, but lingered to keep Spøkel’s enthusiasm in check despite his warning. He barred the dog from jumping Espen or licking him, and waited to leave until he was certain she calmed down enough. Spøkel’s tail happily beat against the coffee table when she laid her head on Espen’s sore right arm. Espen placed a kiss on her muzzle and scratched behind her fluffy ears.

‘Want anything to drink, Espen?’ Frode called from the kitchen. Spøkel jumped up and trotted in the direction of his voice to see if there was anything in it for her.

‘Coffee please,’ Espen answered.

In the hallway, his father held his mother back from entering the living room.

‘…my students. You can get leave to take care of him a lot easier in your position. You really need to arrange something now that he’s home.’

‘And then what, Stein? Leave Espen in bed all day? I can’t lift him for the life of me. Either you stay home or we need to bring in a visiting nurse. Why didn’t you apply…?’

It was exactly as Espen feared. One of his parents would need to devote all their time to taking care of him from now on, and there was nothing he could do to change that.

A wet nose against his hand drew his attention away from the strained negotiations. Spøkel sat down in front of him expectantly. Her leash dangled from her muzzle.

‘Oh, Spøkel, would that I could.’ Espen took the chain from her and laid it across the backrest of the couch. His mood plummeted when she whined and looked pointedly at the door with her round brown eyes. He raked his fingers through the thick fur in her neck. ‘I'm sorry, love. I can't walk you. I… can't walk.’

Spøkel hopped onto the couch and squeezed herself into the space between the back rest and his side, laying her head on his chest. Espen wrapped his arm around her with a sigh. The pain ate away at his endurance, but the helplessness was worse. He hated being reduced to a round-the-clock burden, to something less self-sufficient than a toddler.

Frode crouched down in front of them when he returned with coffee.

‘No sheepherding for you today, eh?’ he said to the dog. ‘Shall I take you out in a bit, then?’

He lifted Espen's feet into his lap so he could sit.

‘Not to be rude or anything,’ he called into the hallway to interrupt their parents, ‘but I fully expect both of you to go back to work on Monday morning.’

They hesitantly turned their attention to him, Marit with her mouth still open and Stein with an uncertain expression. 

‘Are you sure about that, lad?’ Stein asked. ‘I thought you might want to go back to Stavanger.’

Frode squeezed Espen's foot to get his attention. ‘Right, Espen? We’ve still got about ten books to read in that series. Can’t have the two of them yapping through it all day long.’

‘Right!’ Espen said. He hid his surprise at Frode’s offer by shooting his parents a reassuring smile. This was going to be humiliating one way or another. If he could spare them a while this way, he would give it a shot.

 

***

 

Monday afternoon passed slowly in the quiet kitchen. Frode set himself to loading the dishwasher. A DVD of some black metal band with the Norwegian Opera Chorus still blared through the living room, though Frode had just brought Espen upstairs for a non-negotiable nap. The intense healing process and the morphine he still took wore him out and made him irritable.

After being on the phone with co-workers and the planners all weekend, Frode had received the message he’d been waiting for this morning: he could take two extra weeks of leave to care for Espen. There was no way that he was going to allow his mother, Stein, or some visiting nurse to drag his little brother around as an afterthought. Espen needed order and discipline for his recovery, which was Frode’s only priority right now.

Footsteps in the gravel and a dark shadow on the kitchen window drew his attention outside. Daniel approached the front door. Hopelessness and loss hung over him like a storm cloud now that he thought himself unobserved.

Spøkel perked up from her dog bed at Frode's wary body language. She followed Frode into the hall, where he had to shove her out of the way with his foot before he could open the door. Spøkel backed up a little, panting with excitement, when Frode’s knee blocked her from rushing outside and jumping Daniel.    

Daniel crossed the threshold with caution, eyeing the dog. ‘Espen said he was back home.’

Frode nodded. ‘He’s asleep. I was just making coffee.’

Socked feet and the pitter-patter of dog paws trailed him back into the kitchen. He pulled cups from a cabinet. ‘Black, right?’

Everything about Daniel was black today, from the pointy shoes with skull buckles he left at the door to his impossibly tight jeans and the worn leather coat he kept holding in his arms.

Daniel answered with a faint but contagious smile. ‘Aren’t you observant…’

Frode sat across from Daniel at the kitchen table after handing him his brew. He watched Daniel over the rim of his cup. The circles under his eyes had nearly the same colour as his irises, dark blue on pale skin. Mourning suited him, in a way.

‘Espen told me you’re going through a tough time,’ Frode spoke to his own surprise.

‘Yeah, it doesn’t seem to be going away,’ Daniel said quietly. He bit his lower lip. The labret in his chin jutted out from his skin. ‘Most of the time I don't even know what I'm allowed to feel anymore.’

‘Allowed?’ Frode echoed.

‘Nothing but good about the dead, right?’ Daniel searched Frode’s face. ‘It doesn't change anything, but I'm still angry with him. He's six feet under, and here I am with all these misplaced feelings...’

‘You have every right to be angry.’

‘He didn't owe me anything,’ Daniel retorted. He absently toyed with the zipper of the leather coat.

‘You wouldn't be angry or sad if he didn’t owe you anything. He owed you everything, because you cared. He took something from you, and you have no hope of ever reclaiming it.’

Daniel unclenched his fist on the table top. ‘I keep telling myself not to remember him like that, but...’

Frode let the silence stretch until he was sure Daniel was not going to finish his sentence. ‘There's no going back to that unless you give that anger a place.’

‘You're speaking from experience.’

Frode inclined his head. He felt his mother’s hands on his shoulders again, heard the way she gasped for breath when she crouched down and pulled him to her.  _Frode… Don’t look, darling_ _._

‘Might I ask-’

‘No, you may not,’ Frode cut him off. He wasn’t even certain the gruesome memory was real, or just something his four year-old self fabricated for lack of explanation. ‘I, for one, do not owe you anything.’

Daniel cocked his head. ‘What if I said I cared?’

Frode allowed himself a wry smile for the play on his own words. ‘Espen warned me you were a smart motherfucker.’

A barely detectable blush crept across Daniel's face; nothing like the way Jens turned an alarming shade of red when embarrassed, or the way Espen's neck became mottled with his emotion, but the expression was the same.

Frode set down his coffee and checked the time on his phone. A absence of messages told him Espen still slept.

‘Do you want to watch the match, or don’t you like football?’

Daniel shrugged, but followed him to the living room. He trailed his hand across the keys of Stein’s piano without making a sound until he reached the last, deep dark note. Frode sat down on the couch and flipped the channel to Eurosport as it dipped slightly under Daniel’s weight. Every now and then, Frode felt Daniel’s eyes on him, as if he would rather continue their conversation. He pretended he didn’t notice.

 

***

 

Espen became vaguely aware of a presence next to his bed when a hand reached out to pet his hair.

‘Ah, look at him, my fluffy sheep child…’

Frode laughed softly at Daniel’s words. ‘You’ll have to forgive him for not looking as if he’s about to torch a church right now.’

A teaspoon chimed against the rim of the mug Frode placed on the night stand.

‘Look who’s here.’ Frode hoisted Espen upright and piled pillows against the headboard. ‘Need anything, or can I go walk the dog?’

Espen craned his neck to see Daniel standing behind Frode. ‘No thanks. Go ahead.’

Daniel dragged the desk chair over to the bed and watched Frode close the door. ‘He’s kind of sweet, isn’t he? In a rather ill-adjusted manner?’

Espen shrugged with one shoulder. ‘Sweet as a mitten full of stones in your face. He takes good care of me, if that’s what you mean. What are you doing all the way up here?’

‘I had to get out of the city today. Everywhere I look I see him. I’d gone to the library to revise my thesis this morning, but I just can’t focus. I feel so conflicted that he was there for me when I hit rock bottom, but he didn’t even give me the chance to return the favour.’

‘Hang on. I’m not sure what you’re talking about,’ Espen said. ‘Why don’t you tell me the whole story from the beginning? Perhaps it’ll be good to get it off your chest.’

Espen caught himself wanting to hear the full extent of what happened for reasons that weren’t entirely pure. Not knowing made him jealous of the person who had meant so much to Daniel – probably unjustly so.

Daniel hesitated. ‘I’m not sure where to begin.’

‘Well, how did you meet Oskar?’

Daniel’s gaze wandered, following the clouds that chased across the sky over the lake through the window. ‘Did I ever tell you how I got this?’

He flashed the irregular discoloration on his palms that matched a similar patch of skin on his upper back. Espen had never asked what it was for fear of being rude or intrusive.

‘A present from Pelle. When I found out he was cheating on me on top of all the other shit he pulled with the drugs I tried to leave him. He... made it very difficult.’

Espen felt a blind rage against Daniel’s ex flare up. If he ever ran into that Pelle there would be consequences.

‘He kept me practically locked up until the first exams of my bachelor,’ Daniel continued. ‘He let me take them, because we moved to Oslo for my studies in the first place, but after I finished the last one I didn’t want to go home anymore.’

‘I’m going to murder that guy.’

‘Just listen to the story,’ Daniel chided. ‘I was scared to death, had a massive fever and that rash was breaking out across my back, but I was like, fuck if I’m going to let one more person control me now that I got away from my parents and their religious bullshit. I’m taking a train to the other side of the country and start over somewhere none of them will ever find me.’

‘Didn’t you think your parents would help you if they knew? Or Marius?’

‘I hadn’t spoken to Marius since we graduated because he kept talking shit about Pelle. It was a bit hard on my pride that that cunt was right all along. My parents… You have no idea how much they hated what I was back then. What I’d done. What would I even say? Sorry for running away, but your gay, Satanist progeny has returned? And could you call the doctor, because bumming dudes made me physically ill…?’

Espen shook his head.  

‘So then Oskar came up to me. We vaguely knew each other from the metal scene. He asked if I wanted to go have a beer…’ The overcast sky outside washed the colour from Daniel’s face. ‘And I started bawling like you wouldn’t believe. So embarrassing.’

Espen fumbled for his coffee, but his back protested the movement. Daniel pressed the mug into his hand.

‘I thought you and  _Oskar_  had a bad break up. That he quit the band because of that.’

‘No. I was never involved with him. He was straight, and I just got away from Pelle... No.’

Espen set down his mug and held out his hand for Daniel’s.

‘What is this, then?’ he asked, studying the palm.

‘Stage two syphilis,’ Daniel said with a bitter expression.

‘Oh!’ Espen’s thoughts flat lined a moment before he caught himself. ‘Nothing a little penicillin can’t fix, right?’

Daniel made a sound of disgust. ‘A little? It took me months to stop feeling like I contaminated everything with my touch.’

Espen pressed Daniel’s palm to his face on impulse. Daniel’s bitterness melted away. He lightly stroked Espen’s cheekbone with his thumb.

‘Did you know that Arvid did time for stabbing Pelle? No, really, when he and Oskar went to see what he had to say for himself.’

‘Justice,’ Espen said with satisfaction. His regard for their other guitarist immediately doubled.

‘I wouldn’t be where I am now without them. Oskar let me sleep on his couch the entire semester, shared his food with me, took me to the doctor...’ Daniel averted his eyes. ‘I thought I’d have more time to pay him back for his kindness. If I’d known how well he hid how worthless he felt, I would have been on top of it.’

Espen nodded.

‘The music didn’t help. I can’t listen to The Inevitable End anymore.’

‘Yeah.’

‘I hadn’t heard from him for a couple of days when it turned out they fished his body from the water…’ Daniel took a deep breath. ‘Having to bury him was the worst-’

He spun around when he noticed that Frode entered the room, and stopped speaking. Something passed between them in the space of a heartbeat, something Espen had no part in.

‘Will you stay for dinner, Daniel?’ Frode asked.

Daniel regarded him for a moment. ‘Yes. If it’s not too much trouble.’

 


	7. Chapter 7

Once Espen’s injuries no longer hurt enough to justify the use of morphine, part of him he was glad to be off that stuff, but he missed the oblivion it brought as much as the pain management. The endless wait for his situation to improve was maddening now that dull, nagging pain kept him from sleeping the day away.

There were distractions, but even the visit he had received from Inger, Jostein, and Arvid earlier that week had felt unnatural. Lying motionless while everyone else sat around him did nothing to ease his frustration.

Hearing the distinct click of the front door and voices in the hallway, Espen opened his eyes, pulled out one of his earbuds, and listened. Footsteps reached his chamber door. Frode held the door open for Kristin, who pulled Jens along. Something seemed off. Kristin’s mouth had a tense set to it, and Jens looked like hell, ashen and exhausted. Espen hoped they didn’t feel obliged to come visit again so soon.

‘Hey Espen, how are you feeling?’ Jens tried.

Espen shrugged his one shoulder.

‘Espen is a little cranky today,’ Frode spoke, leaning against the doorframe.

‘Espen can speak for himself,’ Espen snapped. ‘I’m disabled, not retarded.’

‘That MRI of your brain looked pretty bad, though. Or has it always looked like that?’

Espen cast about for something to hurl at Frode. The only things he could reach were his MP3-player and his phone. He wasn’t about to throw his best loved possessions.

Jens kept out of it, and quietly gazed out the window until Kristin drew Frode along and they disappeared. When the door closed, he pulled up a chair. ‘Just today? That’s pretty good. I’d be permanently livid if I had to put up with Frode’s remarks all the time.’

Espen let his head fall back against the pillow. ‘I was supposed to move to Oslo this weekend. The introduction week at university begins on Monday.’

Jens nodded slowly.

The previous night, Marius sent Espen a picture of himself and Daniel where they stood pouting in front of the empty room in their apartment. The accompanying missive:  _We miss you :(_  It didn’t help, and yet it did, in a certain way.

Living with Marius and Daniel should have been the ultimate foundation for his academic career. He’d been searching all his life for that feeling of belonging he experienced when hanging out with them. He could look up to Marius without his self-worth being diminished, and the trust between him and Daniel went both ways. However curious he was about the Archaeology curriculum, Espen regretted not being able to move in with them the most.

‘Did you check if it’s possible for you to enrol in the second semester?’ Jens asked.

Espen shook his head. He didn’t feel like talking about it. The longer his leg remained completely numb, the more he saw his chances of a full recovery dwindle, and with it his hopes of becoming a glacier archaeologist. He had better start thinking about a career behind a desk.

Jens stared at him for a moment before clearing his throat. ‘Have you started rehabilitation yet?’

‘Not yet, but I can't wait. I’m going stir crazy here. Frode already banned me from drinking coffee, since the only way I can expend energy is by talking to him.’

‘You should ask Kristin if she knows something that might help. I think she did one of her internships at the sports rehab centre back before she trained as a general practitioner.’

Espen perked up at the idea. ‘I will. I’m so ready to start improving.’

Jens said nothing else for a long while. He didn’t meet Espen’s eyes when he spoke again. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Espen’s heart skipped a beat before it began to race in anticipation of a confrontation of sorts. Cold sweat all over his body gave him chills. ‘Me too. You were right that it was too much for me. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I just really wanted to come along.’  

The bitter regret on Jens’ face was hard to watch. ‘I know. We knew that.’

‘I honestly didn’t mean to ruin it for you.’

Jens shook his head. ‘You didn’t, that was on us. I could have prevented this, and I don’t know why I didn’t. Why Frode and I always-’

Left to remember the things Frode and Jens put him through in the past, Espen decided it didn’t matter. Perhaps the accident had been necessary to implement a change for the better in their relationship.

‘We can still make things right between us, can’t we?’ he asked.

Jens nodded. ‘I very much hope so.’  

‘It’s only thing I ever wanted. To be okay with you and Frode.’

Jens took his hand and squeezed it. Espen held Jens’ between both of his. They still sat like that in silence when Kristin came to check on them. She rubbed their shoulders sympathetically.

‘Espen and I were just talking about things he could do to improve before rehab starts,’ Jens said.

Kristin sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Yeah, I could teach you some exercises that might help you maintain muscle tension. Maybe that way it won’t be such a big step when you start moving again later on.’

‘Please!’ Espen tried to sit up as best he could.

Kristin picked at a loose thread in her white summer dress while she explained how he could get some sort of workout without putting pressure on his fractures using something she called isometric exercises. Espen hung on her every word.

‘You should practice with this leg as well, even though it doesn’t seem to yield any results at the moment. And whenever you’re listening to music, imagine how you’d play it to exercise your brain. It’s been proven that you lose less function when you do this regularly.’

She touched his right knee. It was strange, knowing the sensation he should be feeling but experiencing it as if the leg belonged to someone else. Espen wondered whether he’d ever get used to that, whether he’d ever feel at home in his own body again.

‘Nice to hear some constructive advice,’ he said. ‘I should have talked to you sooner. The only thing Frode has to say is ‘shut up and lie still’.’

‘It’s not that bad, is it?’ Kristin admonished.

‘Well, I’ve been searching for stuff I could do, but Frode doesn’t want me taking any risks. He wants to see a doctor’s note before allowing anything.’

‘Do you need me to write you one?’

‘A repeat prescription for him to mind his own business, please.’

Kristin gave him a stern look. ‘I hope you two aren’t at each other’s throats all day. This is rough enough on your parents as it is.’

‘No, it’s alright.’ Espen flashed her a smile. ‘Sometimes we  _almost_  have fun.’

 

***

 

Wandering through the supermarket across from Strandtorget shopping mall, Frode read the grocery list Stein had given him for the fifth time. The trolley he pushed along was still empty. He wasn’t deliberately trying to delay going back home, but the focus he needed to complete the simple task escaped him no matter his intentions.

Before he left, Marit and Stein tried to involve him in a conversation about adaptations to the house to facilitate the care for Espen. Frode didn’t want to hear about it. It made him feel as if he had no right to hope that Espen would walk again in time, and he wasn’t ready to resign himself to that. Hope was the only thing shielding him from the unspoken accusations and the crippling guilt.

A little boy slipped past him into the next aisle, a box of biscuits in hand. On the other side of the shelves the approving cheer of a second child sounded.

‘Oi! Didn’t I see you sneak one into the trolley two minutes ago, mate?’

Frode pocketed his list upon hearing that voice. He turned the corner out of curiosity.

‘Pick one. You know how mum thinks about…’ Daniel looked up from his conversation with the two kids sending pleading looks up at him.

A toddler in the child seat took off a shoe and dropped it on the floor. The little boy tried to keep his loot out of the hands of an older girl while he considered it.

‘Are all these yours?’ Frode asked without thinking.

‘Are you serious?’ The wide collar of Daniel’s t-shirt slipped off one of his pale shoulders when he crossed his arms across the inverted pentagram on his chest. He didn’t look like a father of three. He didn’t have the right age, either.

Frode shrugged.

‘Åse is my sister’s…’ Daniel nodded to the toddler while he picked up the shoe and put it back on. ‘And these are my parents’ foster children.’

‘Daniel can’t have children,’ the eldest blurted out. ‘He doesn’t like girls.’

The boy nodded sagely. ‘Daniel’s going to hell.’

Astonishment, shame, and repressed grief passed over Daniel’s face in rapid succession. With his hands covering the toddler’s ears he leaned toward them. ‘Who told you that? Who says I’m going to hell?’

‘Reidun.’

‘Oh, that’s just bloody great…’

‘It sounds like this Reidun pays too much attention to old men afraid of death,’ Frode said to no one in particular.

Daniel laughed uneasily. ‘Yeah, my youngest sister is very religious. The whole family is.’

‘With family like that Satan doesn’t seem so bad, does he? Is that why you dress as if you already have one foot in the abyss?’

Daniel’s demure smile bared small, regular teeth and sparked something akin to amusement in the depths of his eye sockets. ‘You dress for the job you want, right? If I’m going to hell, I want the throne.’

Grief suited him, certainly, but Frode rather saw him up in arms.

He squatted down. The children straightened up under his gaze.

‘Listen, you look like smart kids. Do you think it’s nice of Reidun to say something like that?’

They were silent for a beat.

‘No,’ said the girl.

‘Then perhaps you shouldn’t say such things anymore. Especially not to strangers at the supermarket.’

‘Will people think we’re not nice either?’ She gave him a searching look.

‘Exactly.’

‘Aren’t you afraid of death?’ the boy asked.

Frode scratched his beard. ‘I don’t think so,’ he answered truthfully. Death was worse for the people left behind.

‘How about crocodiles?’

‘Or a really big snake?’ the girl wanted to know.

‘What have you got there?’ The boy poked Frode’s upper lip with his finger.

Frode caught his hand and got up. ‘Figured out which biscuits you like best, yet?’

The children dug through the cart and weighed their options.

‘Nice save.’ Daniel pried a strand of his endless ponytail from the toddler’s clutches. ‘Do you have kids yourself?’

Frode shook his head. ‘The pressure’s on Jens.’

Daniel regarded him with an unreadable expression. He seemed calmer than earlier that week, no longer ruled by his grief.

‘You look a bit better than Monday,’ Frode said.

‘I’ve given a lot of thought to what you said. It helped.’

Daniel rubbed his upper arm in an absent-minded gesture. The damage Frode saw in his eyes brought an uncanny familiarity with it. He repressed the desire to wrap an arm around Daniel and tell him it would get better, because he knew that was an empty promise.

Another toddler shoe hit the ground. Daniel sighed.

‘Are we going to get ice cream yet?’ the girl asked.

‘I promised, didn’t I?’ Daniel said. ‘Come on.’

She took Daniel’s hand. The boy snuck two boxes of cookies back into the trolley. The corners of Daniel’s mouth curled up. He walked on, pretending not to notice.

 

***

 

By the end of dinner, Frode watched Espen still push the food he cooked around on his plate with a mixture of irritation and concern. ‘You didn’t exactly eat for all you're worth.’

‘I ate for exactly what I'm worth,’ Espen fired back, ‘which is fuck all.’

Frode put down his cutlery, drained his beer, and disappeared to the kitchen. Going through the motions of cleaning up offered temporary quiet. He declined Stein’s offer to help him. While he scrubbed the stove with a sponge he half-listened to the conversation in the living room about Kristin and Jens’ plans for the future; about children. They’d thought it all through, like every life choice they’d made since meeting each other at university. They would have two well-mannered, bright children to seal their marriage, preferably a boy and a girl.

‘What if I’m one of those men that can only sire girls, though?’ Jens mused.

Frode couldn’t imagine Jens considered that an actual issue, but then, what would he know of desires beyond actually attaining a loving relationship? After a series of dates with a neighbour he turned out to have nothing in common with and a disastrous night with an intensely unintelligent cleaning lady from the rig last year, he was back to sleeping with escort girls whenever the need for companionship arose. At some point he’d have to make an effort to find someone again, but the endless rejection began to wear on him. He wasn’t going to settle for anyone, either, but the intelligent, ambitious women he liked generally knew they deserved better than an often absent man with a ton of unaddressed issues.

Children, on the other hand, seemed rather more forgiving, if he was ever lucky enough to have them. If they had no issue having ice cream with someone who was supposed to be bound for hell, maybe there was hope for him.

Frode shook his head, and smiled to himself as he wiped down the kitchen counter. He didn’t believe in heaven or hell; death did not frighten him in that sense. The emptiness in his life, however, did all the more.

‘Frode?’ Espen’s quiet voice pulled him from his thoughts. ‘Could you take me upstairs?’

Carrying Espen up the stairs took every ounce of strength Frode had, but he didn’t like that Espen’s plummeting weight made it a little easier every day. 

‘Sorry,’ Espen muttered when Frode paused on the landing to catch his breath. ‘Maybe we should move my bed downstairs like mum said.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Frode said, panting. He set Espen on a stool in the bathroom. ‘It’s no big deal.’

Espen brushed his teeth without looking at Frode through the mirror, still clumsy with his left hand. Red blotches appeared in his neck and crept up to his jaw when Frode pulled his sweatpants down to inspect the long scar running up his thigh. Bits of scab gradually flaked off during the course of the week, leaving glistening white tissue bordered in purple. Uncapping a bottle of lotion, Frode massaged the scar tissue to prevent it from hardening.    

‘Lot of pain today?’ he asked when he laid Espen in bed and pulled a pair of socks on his feet unasked. Espen’s right foot was cold as ice.

Espen still avoided his gaze when Frode tucked him in. ‘It’s taking so long, and I feel like such a burden.’

Frode sat with him on the bed, pulling his knee up to his chest.

‘In the US there’s a kid your age that broke his spine in four places snowboarding. He walks again unassisted,’ Frode thought to remember from his endless search for information that could give them hope.

‘How long did that take?’

‘About six months.’

Espen sighed heavily.

‘Go to sleep,’ Frode suggested, petting him as he burrowed into his pillow. ‘Tomorrow you’ll be a day further along.’

‘Yeah, in a bit.’ Espen held up his hand for the MP3-player on his nightstand.

Muted music sounded from the earbuds when Frode closed the bedroom door behind himself. He took a detour via the kitchen to see if there was anything left to be done, but Stein and Jens seemed to have the clean-up under control. The way they stopped speaking when he passed behind them indicated a confidential subject. He returned to the living room to give them space. His mother was reading again, a thick file for work, and Kristin watched TV. She gave Frode a meaningful look when he joined her on the couch.

‘Is he in bed already?’

Frode nodded.

‘Too bad that shoulder complicates his healing process so much. If it wasn’t for that he could’ve regained some mobility with crutches soon,’ Kristin said. She poured herself more wine and grabbed him a glass. ‘But shoulder fractures take a good while to recover…’  

Frode didn’t have anything left to say about it. Espen’s situation was on his mind day and night.

Marit absently ran a hand through her hair as she sighed over her papers. She stood up to extract her work phone from her purse and retreated upstairs.

‘How are you doing?’ Kristin asked.

Frode took the glass of wine from her. He made a conscious effort to drink it in a civilised manner, instead of knocking it back just to maintain a certain blood alcohol level. ‘It’s okay.’

‘Isn’t it bothering you? Apart from the consequences for Espen, it seems like it was a pretty intense experience for you and Jens.’

‘I don’t have time to dwell on it,’ Frode lied.

‘Jens has been seeing a therapist since he got back…’

‘Oh?’ An interested expression was enough to shift the focus to Jens’ issues.

Halfway through their conversation, Marit hurried down the stairs. She entered the kitchen holding her phone to her chest.

‘Stein, could you go see what’s up with Espen?’ she asked. ‘It sounds like he’s a little upset.’

‘Why don’t you put that phone down and see for yourself, darling?’ Stein suggested quietly. ‘Maybe he needs his mother for once.’

Frode decided not to wait for the outcome of that discussion. He took the stairs two steps at a time.

Espen still listened to his music. He covered his face with his hand when he noticed Frode, self-conscious of being an ugly crier. Acute guilt hit Frode like a current of electricity. He approached on unsteady legs and wrapped his arms around Espen as if he could stop his shaking shoulders with muscular strength alone.

‘What’s up, Little Lamb?’ he murmured, drawing Espen to his chest. ‘Is it getting to you?’

Espen nodded into Frode’s shirt.

Frode compulsively adjusted Espen’s braid to follow the curve of his spine rather than hang crooked down his back. ‘It’s hard to keep fighting when every day is such a struggle, huh?’

He had no idea what else to say, but it seemed to be enough to simply hold Espen for a while.

 


	8. Chapter 8

The rain tapping against the bedroom window constantly reminded Espen how badly he needed to pee. He was still comfortable in bed, and the silly photos going back and forth in the Carchost chat kept him entertained, but the clock on his phone steadily crept towards half past nine in the morning. Frode had not come to get him like he did every morning their parents left for work. It had been at least an hour since Stein said his goodbyes. Espen shot out a message.

_Frode arey ou awake yet ? ~ Espen_

In the adjacent room, Frode’s phone beeped. Jens’ old bed creaked dangerously, and muted cursing preceded something falling to the floor. Frode stumbled out into the hall. Spøkel’s nails clicked on the wooden floors in pursuit, but Frode barred her from entering the bathroom. The sound of him being violently sick echoed between the tile walls. The tap ran a few moments as he rinsed his mouth and drank some water.

‘Morning,’ he said when he appeared in Espen’s doorway. Sweat stuck his hair to his face and soaked his t-shirt. Spøkel pushed past his legs and jumped onto Espen’s bed.

Espen pushed himself upright with his good arm. ‘Hey. I know I should’ve asked dad before, but… I really need to take a piss.’

Frode pulled his shirt off and wiped down his face and chest. ‘It’s about that time, isn’t it?’

‘Are you okay, though? I can piss in a bottle or something.’

‘Don’t be weird.’

Despite his casual dismissal of Espen’s concern, Frode had difficulty picking him up, and brought him to the bathroom on somewhat unsteady legs. Clutching him a bit harder than usual out of fear of falling, Espen noticed Frode even smelled sick. He laid a hand against Frode’s forehead to see if he was running a fever. Frode’s eyes crinkled as though he thought that was funny. He left Espen alone to use the toilet for a bit.

‘Go back to sleep,’ Espen suggested when Frode returned him to his bed.

‘I’m up now.’ Frode took two painkillers from the strip on Espen’s night stand and swallowed them with last night’s water.

Espen’s phone buzzed against his mattress a couple of times, but he couldn’t reach it anymore when Frode rolled him onto his side. The pressure his weight put on his broken shoulder made him grit his teeth.

Frode took the ankle of his broken leg and guided the movement with a hand on the hip joint so Espen could bend his knee. ‘Good job. This is getting better every day.’

Espen nodded. He let Frode flip him over. His right leg still didn’t respond to the impulse his brain sent, so he focused on the memory of the feeling like Kristin told him to do. Maybe one day the signal would come through again, if only he persevered. Frode flexed his leg by hand, repeating the movements until the joint moved more easily. The toes of Espen’s right foot dragged, catching on the sheets.

‘This one needs a little more time.’

Espen said nothing. He picked up his phone. Daniel had sent a photo of himself in a dimly lit office bathroom.

‘Who is it?’ Frode asked when Espen laughed.

‘Daniel. He’s bored at work, I think.’

Frode made a half-hearted attempt to take the phone, then thought better of it, and lay down next to Espen to watch. Spøkel stretched out between them.

‘What’s that on his head?’ Frode tapped the screen to enlarge the photo.

It was an elaborate tiara, one that wouldn’t look out of place at a royal wedding, constructed out of paperclips.

To Espen’s surprise, Frode smiled. ‘He was going on about wanting to be king of hell at the store the other day.’

‘What? When did you see him?’

‘Saturday.’ Frode pulled the covers towards himself and got under them. He wrapped an arm around the dog. Shortly after Espen thought he’d fallen back asleep, he opened his eyes. ‘Hey. Was that a precaution not to wet your bed again just then, or…?’

Espen lifted his head to meet his eyes. ‘No, I felt it!’

He let out a relieved laugh. The fact that his paralysis didn’t neatly limit itself to his leg, but affected part of his lower body as well, had caused some trouble the first weekend at home. Frode hadn’t made a big deal out of it, and a better routine prevented further accidents, but Espen felt his face burn at the memory.

Frode gave a thoughtful nod. ‘Good.’

While his brother stared at the ceiling with glassy eyes, Espen scooted closer to him and held his phone at an arm’s length to take a photo of them. Next to Frode’s vibrant ginger hair and the dog’s snow white fur he looked faded and ashen in the grey morning light.

He sent the picture to the group chat with the text:  _sick, lazy and crippled; we’re staying in bed today_.

After a lame joke from Arvid, Espen received a private message.

_Spøkel is a lucky girl _;) ~ Daniel__

***

 

‘Frode.’ Espen nudged his brother. ‘Hey Frode.’

‘Hang on.’

Espen waited as Frode copied a recipe from  _Men’s Health_  magazine into his notebook full of training schedules and meal plans. He never before realised how much work Frode put into maintaining his impressive build. Of course he’d gotten lucky with his genes in the sense that he was tall and broad-shouldered, but he also cooked obsessively healthy meals and spent long hours at the gym. Even the day after he’d been ill he’d immediately gone back to heavy training.

‘Don’t you ever eat a frozen pizza?’

‘I wouldn’t want to. But if you have a need I could get them for you.’

Espen shook his head. ‘Nah. It’ll be an adjustment when you go home.’

‘Pay attention, then you can cook yourself when I’m gone. When you get rid of that sling at the end of the week you can help me with meal prep.’

‘Right,’ Espen said. ‘Will you take me to rehab on Friday?’

‘Who else?’ Frode continued writing. ‘Was that what you wanted to ask?’

Espen studied his brother and the conventionally attractive, buff models in the magazine, considering his question.

‘Actually… If I gave you a pair of scissors - or a set of clippers - what would you do with my hair?’

Frode laid his pen aside. He stood up to run his hands through Espen’s long curls.

‘First of all, I’d give you a life-long dye prohibition…’ When Espen kept listening he went on: ‘Perhaps you should have it cut like when you were in primary school. With those curls sort of half-length…’

Espen felt a laugh bubble up. ‘Remember when mum threw a party for her fiftieth birthday? You ignored me half the night because I grew my hair out.’

The evening of the party, Espen had observed his brother from the corners of his eyes upon his late arrival from Stavanger. The time was past that he could break into a run and leap into Frode’s arms. They had been strangers for years, and one-sided attempts at regular contact never led anywhere. The ignorant innocence he used to meet his brother with as a child no longer protected him from rejection.

‘Would you believe me if I said I didn’t recognise you? I only realised when I heard Jens talking to Kristin about you,’ Frode said.

Espen narrowed his eyes and sent a sceptical glance over his shoulder.

‘I’m serious. We hadn’t seen each other in over a year, you were about a foot taller, your voice had broken… The hair didn’t help.’

Frode had changed as well, Espen recalled. He’d changed a great deal since their last encounter when he collected his first master’s degree. In place of an overworked, physically neglected student, a fit and capable man stepped into the room.

Jens eventually forced Frode to greet him, which he did by giving Espen’s shoulder-length curls a teasing tug. Espen belatedly launched himself into Frode’s arms anyway, ill at ease but curious about the big brother he barely knew anymore.

‘We talked afterwards,’ Frode reminded Espen. ‘And we had a sleepover in your room.’

‘Only because Jens had Kristin over.’

‘If you want to see it that way.’ Frode detangled a strand of hair with his fingers. ‘No, you know what the thing was? You were talking to those two grave wreaths. I was trying to ignore  _them_.’ 

‘What was your beef with your grandparents?’

‘Long story.’

‘Ah, Frode, come on.’

Frode divided Espen’s hair in three sections began to braid it. He sighed. ‘Jens and I had to live with them for a while… Naturally, they didn’t appreciate being saddled with us at their age. No one would.’

Espen nodded slowly. He’d never heard Frode speak of this before.

‘Mum was doing her best to get her doctorate so she could get a proper income after she had to sell the farm when dad…’ Frode let a brief silence fall. ‘I don’t understand why they treated her so tactlessly. She went back to taking care of us as soon she could. But especially after Stein came into the picture, they kept banging on about how much I look like my father every time. I  _don’t_  look like him.’

‘If anyone looks like mum, it’s you,’ Espen agreed, which was a lie. Frode did look like his father in many ways. But Espen understood that Frode needed to distance himself from the man who’d distanced himself from them in the worst way possible. His anger mirrored their mother’s, who’d even gone as far as to change their family name to her maiden name, erasing all trace of her late husband’s legacy. Espen appreciated that, for his own sake. It allowed him to at least carry the same surname as his brothers, reminding them they were, in fact, related, no matter how much they denied it.

‘Jens and I were the only thing my grandparents had left of him. You’d expect…’

Frode let go of Espen’s plait and walked away.

Espen studied him when he returned with the  _fiskekaker_  he’d baked in a transparent attempt to make Espen gain some weight back. Frode armed himself against the memories with a straight back and his head held high, but his eyes smouldered like fire in the ruins of a bombing. He set the plate on the table without a word. Espen caught his hand and squeezed it.

Frode took the hair tie from Espen’s wrist to tie the end of his braid. ‘Why are you thinking of cutting it off?’

‘I figured… People are going to have enough prejudices about me when I need to go around in a wheelchair.’

Frode asked to leave for the gym early that afternoon, trusting Espen to survive on his own a while until his company arrived. Espen readily agreed to the small measure of independence. He looked forward to tonight’s band meeting, but also dreaded it, because in this state, there was nothing he had left to contribute. By the time the front door closed behind Frode, Espen’s thoughts drifted from the boring daytime shows on TV to the first time he met the members of Carchost.

_With the handwritten note that his father had taken from the studio complex in hand, Espen dialled the phone number he read there. He glanced over the ad asking for a metal drummer ages twenty to thirty with nerves roiling in his gut. Dad said not to let that hold him back, but what if they thought he was just a silly child, or a poser?_

_‘Inger,’ said a friendly female voice._

_Espen took a shallow breath. ‘Hi. I saw this number on an ad… About a drummer?’_

_‘That’s right! What’s your name?’_

_‘Espen.’_

_‘How old are you, Espen?’_

_‘Almost eighteen.’_

_She gave a pensive hum. ‘Alright… Do you have time to come play with us next Thursday? That way we can assess whether you’re a good fit.’_

_‘Yes,’ Espen answered. He felt his face split into a careful smile at being given at least a chance to show what he could do._

_‘Text me your email, I’ll send you some songs to prepare.’_

_‘I will,’ Espen said breathlessly._

_‘See you soon, then.’_

_In the week that followed, Espen immersed himself in Carchost’s dark, ambient music. It was a far cry from the cheerful folk metal he usually listened to, but he had the required skill level, and was dying to play with other people for once._

_On Thursday evening he entered the studio complex, carrying the bags with his bass pedals and sticks over one shoulder. His father, busy booking rehearsal spaces behind the bar, gave him an absent smile as Espen crossed the lounge towards a guitar case with CARCHOST spray-painted on it._

_‘Inger?’ Espen touched the arm of the person that seemed to belong to the guitar case, features hidden from sight by a cascade of black hair._

_‘Do I look like a girl to you, mate?’_

_‘Ehm,’ Espen stuttered, taking in the young man that spun around to face him. ‘Well, you do have very nice hair.’_

_And a delicate face. Lovely, for a twenty-something guy._

_He looked Espen up and down, suspicious at first, then more like a smug cat. ‘Do go on.’_

_A blond guy about the same age gave him a shove. ‘Daniel!’_

_‘So, you’re the one doing audition?’ Daniel asked. He took Espen’s bags from him and ordered him to spin around in a circle._

_Espen, red-faced, did as he was told._

_‘Oi, Daniel!’ A man in his late twenties sporting a buzz-cut walked up, carrying two guitars. ‘Could you perhaps behave for one night and not freak out our potential drummer before we’ve played a single note?’_

_Daniel barked an incredulous laugh at him before turning back to Espen. ‘How old are you?’_

_‘Too young for you, take it from me.’ Inger joined the conversation. She made her bag switch hands so she could shake Espen’s._

_‘Alright, mate,’ Daniel said, ‘show us what you’ve got.’_

_He said it with a hint of sarcasm,_ _mate_ _, but Espen’s big, dumb heart did a little somersault. He really wanted these people to be his friends._

Presently, footsteps sounded on the back porch. Espen waved lazily when Daniel appeared in the doorway, carrying a duffle bag on his back.

‘Are you coming to live with me now?’

‘Tempting offer, but it’s rather far from university, don’t you think?’ Daniel tossed the bag in a corner and jumped onto the sofa next to Espen. He smacked Espen’s numb leg with his open hand. ‘What’s up?’

‘I’m okay. The fractures are improving, and I have control over my bladder again.’

‘Good, keep at it.’ Daniel took off his boots and nudged the duffle bag with his toe. ‘Look, I cleaned out my wardrobe. See if there’s anything you want.’

‘I’ll take everything.’

‘You haven’t even seen it.’

‘If it was good enough for you, it’s good enough for me.’

‘You must be the youngest sibling.’ Daniel cast a furtive glance around the room. ‘Where’s your brother?’

‘At the gym.’

A calculating expression crossed Daniel’s features. ‘He’s single, right?’

Espen nodded. ‘As far as anyone knows.’

‘How would he react to an indecent proposal?’

‘I dunno. Frode seems pretty straight, but he wouldn’t be nasty about it, I reckon.’

Daniel nudged him. ‘I can always hope bisexuality runs in the family.’

‘Hush,’ Espen said with a laugh.

‘Your family still doesn’t know? Even after the way you and Linn broke up?’

‘No, have you _met_ my brothers?’

‘Wuss,’ Daniel teased. ‘By the way, I’m still insulted it wasn’t me.’

‘Marry me,’ Espen said, not for the first time, to halt his momentum.

Daniel pinched his cheek, and like always, answered: ‘When you’re all grown up.’

 

***

 

Frode chucked Espen’s mountain bike in the garage when he arrived home under the cover of darkness. He took a steadying breath. Cycling back up the mountain from downtown Lillehammer nearly sent him into cardiac arrest after his extensive workout. Unwilling to enter the house and face other people just yet, he sat down on the stone steps and unscrewed the cap of the bottle of vodka he’d picked up after his inexplicable freak-out outside the gym. He poured the liquor straight into the bottle with his post-workout drink in an attempt to drown out the chopper noises that still filled his ears. Knowing there was no point in looking strong if he couldn’t even hold himself together, he squashed his guilt over destroying all of the hard work he’d done in the past couple of days to get back on track with his diet.

The living room was crowded by the time Frode entered the house with his muscles and throat burning in equal measure. Conversations laced hesitant piano playing; not fluent enough to be Stein, but Espen was in no state to play, either. Frode stuck his head around the door to see what was going on. Marius sat behind the piano, wearing a frown, while Stein guided him through a score. Espen’s entire band was present – for some meeting, Frode vaguely recalled. The short, dark-haired woman noticed him from where she sat with that Neo-Nazi Frode would rather bodily fling into the sun than allow near Espen. He raised his hand in greeting without giving her the opportunity to start a conversation, and headed upstairs to take a shower. At the laundry machine on the landing, he paused to stuff his sportswear in.

A sudden dull thud sounded from Espen’s bedroom. Frode dropped his shirt on the floor and hurried towards the source of the noise. For a split-second he thought it was Espen on his knees in front of his wardrobe shielding his head from the impact of a heavy wooden shelf, but only when he tossed the plank aside to help did he realise it was Daniel in a similar hooded sweater. Spread out all over the floor around him were piles of black trousers, button downs, hoodies with band logos, and something that reflected in the lamp light as if it was made of PVC or latex.

Daniel took the hand Frode offered to pull him to his feet. ‘That bloody shelf collapsed out of nowhere.’

Frode took the weathered wooden plank and studied the suspension. ‘This wardrobe belongs in the trash, but you know Espen. He likes his old crap.’  

Daniel nodded. ‘Antiques are well and good until they stop functioning.’

While Frode balanced the shelf somewhat properly, Daniel measured Frode’s deltoid between his fingers. ‘Shoulder day today?’

‘Ah, no, that was yesterday. I did some interval training.’ Frode backed out of the room, aware that he probably reeked of sweat and alcohol.

Daniel regarded him, his head tilted to the side, and nodded wordlessly. He folded a shirt and put it back on the shelf.

After a brief shower and some paranoid tooth-brushing, Frode put on a pair of sweatpants and returned to Espen’s room to see what Daniel was up to.

A garbage bag rustled behind the door. ‘I was afraid I’d scared you off.’

Frode tried to come up with an explanation for that comment. Was he supposed to feel concern about interacting with Daniel now that he knew Daniel was into guys?

‘You’d have to step up your game. Maybe if you sat on my head without warning. Then again, I’m used to that, too. That was Jens’ favourite strategy to take me out when we were younger. Then Espen would buckle my legs together with a belt so they could make off with my stuff.

Daniel laughed silently, with shaking shoulders. He pulled his head from the wardrobe.

‘At my place there was a lot of hair-pulling and pinching. And Reidun scratches. Still.’ He took a pile of trousers from the floor, compared the labels, the degree of fadedness and the holes that did or did not belong in them.

‘Are you personally responsible for Espen’s looks?’

‘I refuse to take responsibility for that hair.’ Daniel tossed a pair of jeans towards the overflowing garbage bag.

‘He asked me whether he should cut it off the other day.’ Frode mentioned. He stooped to pick up the article of clothing that seemed to be made of patent leather upon closer inspection. A tangle of laces held the edges together. ‘Is this what you wear in your spare time?’

‘No, to work, alright?’

‘Goes nicely with that tiara,’ Frode teased. He sat down on the bed to see how it was made. ‘Are these pants or something? Show me.’

‘I get why people get the urge to sit on your head. Give me that.’

Once Frode started laughing about it he couldn’t stop. ‘Go on. Put it on. Show me.’

Daniel walked over and tried to snatch the pants from his hands. Frode warded him off with ease.

‘I’m warning you,’ Daniel threatened, ‘I’ll make a scene if I don’t get my way.’

‘I’ll have you know that I have no scruples whatsoever putting you across my knee.’

‘Yeah, but what if I’m into that?’ Daniel’s compelling eyes were suddenly close.

‘Alright, if it’s that important to you…’ Frode let him take the bizarre pair of pants.

To his surprise, Daniel carelessly dropped it and leaned in. His lips brushed Frode’s so lightly that Frode almost wondered whether he imagined it, too messed up and intoxicated for his own good. However, the sting of the tiny spike on Daniel’s piercing left an undeniable impression on his skin.

‘Thanks.’ Daniel sat back down among the piles of clothing with crossed legs.

‘Hey. What was that about?’ Frode asked, his heart beating in his throat.

Daniel imperiously pointed to the garbage bag. ‘Go away, you’re distracting me. And take out the trash when you go downstairs.’

‘I’ll put  _you_  in the trash.’ Frode grabbed him by his waist and hoisted him over his shoulder. ‘Together with that closet you came out of.’

Daniel shrieked with laughter, repeating the pun as Frode carried him from the room.

From the stairwell, a mildly worried voice sounded. ‘Daniel? Are you coming? We were going to discuss plans for the album, remember?’

‘Start without me! I’m discussing my safe word with Espen’s brother first!’

With a jolt, Frode became aware of Daniel’s weight against him, his hand on the back of a slim thigh, his shoulder pressing into Daniel’s lower belly, and the long hairs catching on his beard. He abruptly set Daniel back down, which only made Daniel laugh harder.

‘Aw, d’you need some time to think about it?’ He reached into the pocket of Frode’s sweatpants for his phone.

Frode wordlessly held up his hand when Daniel shoved it at him and began to dictate his phone number.

‘Call me when you’ve made up your mind.’ Flipping his hair over his shoulder, Daniel started down the stairs.

Frode shook his head in confusion, but saved the number, regardless. 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Jens’ phone call on Friday morning caught Frode in a bad place. Though Espen had looked happy to go to the sports rehab centre, Frode excused himself from staying as soon as the doctor and physical therapist present strapped him to a tilting table so he could begin the process of relearning how to stand with his paralysed and atrophied legs. After weeks of constant confrontation with the consequences of the accident he caused, Frode had reached the limit of what he could bear unaided. He didn’t have any room left for Jens’ grief, and barely managed to listen. He spiked his coffee with liquor while Jens sounded more and more upset on the phone.

‘I just don’t understand why mum never talked to us about it anymore. I don’t even know where they’ve buried him. Sometimes… sometimes I have trouble recalling his name, and that’s the worst feeling in the world.’

In his mind, Frode heard his mother scream their father’s name. There was no forgetting for him. He’d carry that sound with him until he died, like sight of the flashing blue lights of a passing ambulance reflecting in Jens’ wide eyes. The way the farm looked, dwindling in the distance. They never saw their home again. Their room. The animals.

‘I mostly consider Stein my dad –’

‘Good for you,’ Frode muttered darkly.

‘- but that emptiness where he should have been, or at least the memory of him… Whenever I fail to think about him for a while I feel so guilty. How could I forget about him?’

Frode stared with unseeing eyes at the half-empty bottle of whiskey sitting next to his cup of coffee on the table. ‘Did you talk to your therapist about this?’

‘Well, yeah. Like, how messed up is it that we don’t ever talk about him anymore? The only reason I know he held me the first two years of my life is because Stein,  _Stein_ , not mum, occasionally took me to look through photo albums.’

Frode didn’t respond. He only had a handful of lively memories of his father, and in the last few he hadn’t even been alive anymore. He couldn’t say where the grave was either. They never returned there after the funeral.

‘… never wanted for anything with him, but when they came home with that baby, didn’t you think-’

‘Yeah,’ Frode muttered. ‘I wanted to roll him down the mountain into the bloody lake.’

It had been good for Marit when Stein came along, that much was clear. He gave her hope for the future, and his child gave her a joy she clearly couldn’t find with her eldest sons anymore. But their presence did not compensate Frode and Jens for the absence of someone who was supposed to be there for them forever. Sometimes it was maddening to watch Stein’s musical and imaginative child grow up in the shelter of a complete family while they still felt the loss every day, undermined by incomprehension and fear of abandonment.

Frode struggled for a long time with the idea that he and Jens hadn’t been worth sticking around for, that they weren’t enough for their mother. He wasn’t that much of a talker, but Jens was right; couldn’t there have been another way to deal with this than meeting silence from their grieving grandparents while their mother worked herself half to death? They’d had questions, questions that had never been answered.

At their grandparents’ house, Frode would sometimes wake up in the dark to hear Jens babble to his stuffed animals, sad that he hadn’t seen their mother that day, but hopeful that their father would soon return. Jens told a chewed-out frog that he’d waited long enough now.

_‘Pappa isn’t coming back, Jens.’_

_‘Never?’_

_Frode didn’t answer, afraid that Jens would cry and wake their grandparents._

_‘What about mamma?’_

_‘Mum will be back. On Friday.’_

_‘What’s Friday?’_

_‘The fifth day,’ Frode knew._

_Jens whispered: ‘You will stay with me, won’t you? Forever?’_

Frode stared at the mixture that slowly grew cold in his cup before downing it in one go. He refilled the cup to the brim with whiskey.

They’d made it, together. By prioritising each other and closing themselves off from disruptive changes they transcended their bad start in life. Jens had found happiness, and Frode had found purpose, if nothing else. It was somewhat of a comfort that Jens still knew where to find him during the hard times, but it was his shortcoming that he failed to protect Jens from this relapse. If only he’d been more careful with Espen.

Spøkel ambled up and laid her head on his knee. She kept staring at him with her liquid brown eyes until he scratched her behind the ears. When the doorbell suddenly rang, she gave a quiet bark before trotting to the door. Through the kitchen window, Frode saw Daniel standing on the steps outside in the morning sun.

Daniel was the last person he wanted to see right now. He disappeared upstairs without opening the door and lay on his bed, spacing out until Jens exhausted his words.

‘Will I see you this weekend?’ Frode asked when Jens fell silent. ‘Before I leave?’

‘Is that next week? I’ll come over tomorrow then.’

Frode remained on the bed for a while before he remembered it was nearly time to pick Espen up. He absently made his way to the kitchen, floating more than walking with the haze of alcohol numbing his mind and senses. The clock ticked slowly above the table. Spøkel came up to him with lazy tail-wagging. Frode petted her soft head while he drained his cup. He only noticed Daniel when he tried to throw the empty bottle of whiskey in the bin underneath the sink; sitting on the counter with his arms crossed and a worried expression. Time stretched endlessly until Daniel opened his mouth.

‘I don’t remember letting you in,’ Frode cut him off. He pushed Daniel’s leg aside and bent to open the cabinet. When he straightened up, Daniel caught him by the chin.

‘Been depressed long, mate?’

Frode didn’t answer.

‘Or should I ask how long you’ve been an alcoholic?’

‘I’m not an alcoholic,’ Frode snapped.

‘It’s ten in the morning.’

‘Piss off, Daniel.’

‘Not before I know what the hell is going on here.’

The last shreds of Frode’s self-control gave out. He kicked a chair through the kitchen in blind rage and rounded on Daniel. ‘I told you to get lost!’

Daniel froze. His eyes darted to the door. ‘Pick up the chair,’ he said in a less than steady voice.

The fear Daniel tried to mask with determination hit Frode with instant regret. He faced away, leaning on the table top. ‘Please go.’

‘Frode.’ Daniel spoke his name with such sad concern. He spread his arms when Frode looked over his shoulder. ‘Come here.’

Frode let a sigh escape, then picked up the chair and righted it. He let his feet lead him back to the counter.

‘What’s going on?’

‘It’s my brothers.’ Frode moved into Daniel’s embrace and rested his head on Daniel’s shoulder. ‘I should’ve taken better care of them.’

Daniel’s arms circled around him. ‘Is that what they say?’

‘No, you don’t understand.’

He abandoned Jens. He maimed and nearly killed Espen.

Daniel brought his hands up to run them through Frode’s hair. ‘I’m listening.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ He couldn’t talk about it if he wanted to. He was too far gone to translate his thoughts into coherent speech.

‘If you change your mind I’m here for you, okay? But you need to stop drinking. That isn’t helping.’

‘I’ll stop when I go back to work.’

‘No, today,’ Daniel said sternly. He held Frode at an arm’s length so their eyes met. ‘Where did you leave Espen?’

‘Rehab. I’m picking him up in a minute.’

‘I don’t think so. You’re going to drink a metric fuckton of water and take that dog for a walk until you’re sober. If you even think of getting in a car like this, I’m calling the cops.’

Frode opened his mouth to protest.   

‘I’ll get Espen. Give me your keys.’ Daniel held up his hand until Frode handed over his car key. ‘When you’re ready to come back you’d better have a plan to sort this out.’

A brief stab of worry pierced through the alcohol-induced fog in Frode’s mind. ‘What are you going to tell him?’

‘Nothing. He has enough to worry about.’ Daniel filled a glass with water and set it down in front of him. ‘Drink.’

 

***

 

Frode followed Spøkel’s plumed tail as she trotted down the gravel path along the lake. He became more nauseous and sober in equal measure with every step he took, and felt indescribably despicable - more so now that that Daniel had become a witness to his weakness. He had to set this right as soon as possible, but how?

It wasn’t the first time he needed to kick the habit this abruptly – Jens once called him out on his out of control drinking after a visit to Trondheim years ago – but last time he’d been able to get his hands on medication that made the process easier.

Who could he persuade to prescribe him restricted drugs now? Another week would pass before he could reach his general practitioner in Stavanger, and if he was honest with himself, he needed every day of the coming week to get his shit together. Visiting a clinic here likely wouldn’t yield the desired result. If he couldn’t properly assess where to apply pressure, there was too much chance he would waste the opportunity. He only had one shot before it became suspicious.

He got out his phone to dial Kristin’s number. Having seen Jens’ lingering distress up close might have made her sympathetic to a cry for help from him.

‘Hey Kris, you got time?’

‘Sure! I’m at home. I’ve got the weekend shift.’ Her volume dropped. ‘Good thing you’re having Jens over for the day tomorrow. Hopefully it’ll be a nice distraction for him.’

‘I hope so, too. I know how he feels. The insomnia especially gets to you.’

‘See!’ Kristin exclaimed. ‘No offence, but you looked pretty rotten, too, last weekend. Aren’t you sleeping either?’

Frode hesitated to cross the boundary between vulnerability and outright manipulation. ‘Yeah. As soon as I get in bed I start thinking about it again. What we could’ve done differently. Whether Espen will ever be alright. It doesn’t help I’m straining my ears for every sound coming from his room.’

It wasn’t strictly a lie. He merely avoided telling her that he’d drank himself into a stupor every night of the last week to prevent the worrying and the nightmares that often followed. The pharmaceutical manual warned doctors against patients with a history of alcohol and drug abuse when prescribing the drugs he wanted. Thankfully, Kristin only knew him as a responsible health freak.

‘Would you like the number of Jens’ therapist?’ She laughed; she already knew the answer.

‘No time. I’ll be going back to sea next Sunday. At least…’

‘Hm?’

‘I can’t do my job like this. If I can’t get over it there I’m going to have a big problem.’

‘Does that worry you?’

Frode held a pause. ‘It does.’

‘Man, I’m so sorry you guys are having such a hard time with this. Why didn’t you say so before?’

‘I was hoping it’d pass.’

‘So did Jens. You two always think you need to figure out everything by yourselves. Would it help if I gave you something to break the pattern of the insomnia?’

‘It might,’ Frode said carefully. ‘I actually called to ask if you knew something that might help.’

He needed benzodiazepine. Preferably diazepam.

‘I figured. Let me think… I’m a bit more careful prescribing oxazepam after that Swedish study about the ecosystem…’

‘Hm,’ Frode agreed.

‘But a low dose of diazepam should work.’

Frode let out a relieved breath.

‘The pharmacy will give you all the info about the effect and the possible side effects. If you have any trouble with it whatsoever, don’t hesitate to contact me.’

‘Thanks so much,’ Frode said. ‘So how are you doing with all this?’

‘I just need to get used to seeing Jens this way. He doesn’t want to be alone at the moment, and he can’t get anything done. I don’t know this side of him at all. We’ll get through it, though. It’s just tricky that he should really be looking for a job before he gets a gap in his resume. He already changed his mind about the post-doc he got offered last minute.’

‘Right, did he say he wanted to teach chemistry now?’

Frode let the conversation run its course to avoid suspicion about using her. An emerging headache gave him trouble focusing, but luckily Kristin was easy to talk to.

‘Espen went to rehab for the first time today, right?’ she eventually asked.

‘Yeah. He should be home by now.’

‘Tell him to call me about how it went when you see him.’

‘I will. Thanks, Kris.’

Frode hung up and called the dog back before she could dive into the waters in pursuit of a duck.

‘Come on, Spøkel. Let’s go see how your sheep is doing.’

In the driveway of the white house on the mountain, his car sat dull grey and filthy from the thousands of kilometres he’d driven with it this month. Walking up the sloping lawn, he noticed Espen’s curtains were closed. The house was quiet when he entered. The silence filled him with an uncertain dread. Frode kicked off his shoes, wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and entered the living room. It was empty. There was no one in the kitchen either. He almost wished Daniel was still there.

Upstairs, gentle snoring sounded from Espen’s room. Frode crept inside to check on him.

Espen opened his big, grey eyes, bloodshot from sleep. He smiled vaguely.

‘How did it go?’ Frode whispered.

‘Yes,’ Espen breathed inaudibly. His eyes fell shut.

‘We’ll talk later. Sleep.’ Frode brushed a strand of hair from his face. It felt moist, and was black all the way up to his roots again. The sharp scent of hair dye clung to his fingers.

Jens’ old room was a mess. The sight of his stash of liquor on display on the rug in the middle of the room startled him as he entered.

Daniel lay on the bed, leafing through Frode’s magazines.

‘You read this for fun?’ He held  _Chemical Engineering Science_ up without looking.

Frode didn’t know what to say, and remained in the doorway.

‘Come, close the door. Espen has ears like a bat.’ Daniel sat up and waited for the door to close. He patted a spot on the mattress next to him. ‘Tell me what you’ve come up with.’

Frode did not sit. ‘I’ve got a handle on it. Thanks for your help.’

‘That’s not enough for me.’

‘Tough.’

‘Did you know I have a very good relationship with your mother?’ Daniel asked sweetly. ‘She would listen to what I had to say about this for sure.’

‘Don’t. She’s been through enough.’

‘You want to fix this without losing face, I get that. I’m the same. But your judgement isn’t great right now. Let me help you.’

‘Find a different charity. Adopt a stray cat.’

‘If you prove to me that you’ve got this. Besides, I already have a cat. He’s an ill-mannered ginger cunt, too. Seems like I have a type.’

Frode automatically ran a hand through his hair. He laughed in spite of everything.

‘What are you afraid of?’ Daniel asked.

‘Don’t presume you know what’s going on inside my head, Daniel. You don’t know me.’

‘But I’d like to.’ Daniel stood up when Frode said nothing in return, and made to leave. ‘Empty those before Espen wakes, won’t you?’

Frode followed his gaze to the bottles on the floor. Daniel put his hand on the door handle.

‘I talked about it with a doctor,’ Frode suddenly blurted out. ‘I’m getting pills so I can sleep without dreaming about that damn accident.’

Daniel met his eyes in surprise. ‘Okay. And after?’

‘After, I’ll go back to work, and everything goes back to normal.’

Frode more or less trusted that his hectic work on the rig would occupy his mind until functioning normally became natural again. It remained a risk to trade one addictive substance for another, but he saw no other way out.

‘I hope so, for your sake.’

Frode held the edge of the door when Daniel tried to pull it shut behind him.

‘Why are you wasting your time with this?’

Daniel averted his face. ‘Espen’s well-being is at the top of my priority list, and you’re part of it. And god help me, but I’m already half in love with you.’

Frode awkwardly scratched through the short hairs at the back of his neck. ‘I’m sorry.’

An apology and rejection in one. There was nothing more he could offer. 

 


	10. Chapter 10

On the road to Hafjell bike park, Frode asked Jens to take a detour via the pharmacy, and subsequently, to give him some space and wait in the car. Jens didn’t ask any questions. Yet. The young technician behind the counter shot Frode a fleeting, curious look from behind her screen when he walked in. He awkwardly tugged at the tight cycling gear he borrowed from Jens.

‘Hi. Picking up a recipe for Frode Morten Stedjeberg.’

‘Your date of birth?’ the technician asked when she returned with a stack of boxes bound with a rubber band.

‘February seventeenth, nineteen eighty-four.’

She handed him the medication and an information leaflet of multiple pages. Frode absently thanked her and stuffed the leaflet in the back pocket of his shirt. He tried to circumvent Jens’ curiosity by putting the meds in his bag on the back seat, but Jens fixed him with a look.

‘What’s ailing you?’

‘An STD,’ Frode lied.

‘Which one?’

‘Jens! It’s none of your fucking business! Drive, or I’m walking back home.’

Jens put the car into gear, and pulled away in silence. He only spoke again when they neared their destination. ‘You think Espen resents us for going off without him now?’

‘He should be used to that,’ Frode answered more bitterly than he intended.

Jens looked back at the road after a brief sideways glance. ‘How are things, taking care of him all day? Lots of drama, or what?’

Frode shrugged, and picked at the tight elastic above his knee.

‘How much heavier than me are you?’ Jens asked.

‘I have nine percent body fat. Your move.’

‘Your arse looks huge in those shorts. Are you eating badly, or drinking again?’

‘Get lost. I got more phone numbers this summer than you did in your entire life.’

‘I’m happily married.’

‘Good for you. No really, I’m glad.’

‘So whose phone numbers did you get? Or, who gave you that STD? Whichever you care to divulge.’

‘I can’t quite remember the first one I ended up with… That was the night you were sick all over the hotel room, so probably someone with incredibly bad taste. That one nurse,’ Frode counted on his fingers. ‘And Espen’s friend.’

‘Just let me imagine that for a minute. You and that black-haired piece of trash.’

Jens parked the car, but kept regarding him with an insufferable smirk. Frode got out to undo the bindings of the bike rack. His shaking hands gave him trouble untying the front wheel of the first bike.

Jens gathered their things from the back seat. There was something about the way he slammed the car port.

‘Frode,’ he said before Frode could lift the first mountain bike off the rack. ‘Look at me.’

Frode turned around. He did not anticipate the punch Jens threw without warning. Shock delayed the pain of the impact, but it bloomed across his face a second later when blood began to trickle across his mouth and down his chin. Temporarily stunned, he covered his face with his arms and doubled over.

‘You lying piece of shit!’ Jens raged. ‘You swore it was the last time!’

Jens swung a second time. Frode moved into his defence to take him in an arm lock before his strike had a chance to land with its full momentum. Their shoes slipped on the loose soil.

‘If you want to completely fuck yourself up again, go ahead-’ Jens rasped as they grappled. ‘But not at the expense of my wife! I won’t forgive you that!’

Frode had trouble controlling Jens’ mowing arms. ‘Jens, listen-’

‘Like hell!’ Jens shouted. ‘I’ll kill you!’

Frode gasped for breath when Jens’ elbow landed on his ear. Jens kicked him in the back of the knees and used his entire weight to take him down. Gravel stung and scraped Frode where he hit the ground. Knees painfully immobilised his arms.

‘When they find you dead from an overdose, who do you think is going to carry the blame, huh? Did you think about that? Or do you just not care?’

‘Diazepam won’t kill you, you idiot,’ Frode spat. ‘What kind of chemist are you?’

‘One who knows you’ll wash it down with litres of alcohol!’ Jens clamped his hands around Frode’s neck and repeatedly slammed the back of his head into the ground.

It wasn’t a bad way to go, Frode thought as stars danced at the edge of his vision: Jens’ hands slowly squeezing the blood supply to his brain shut. Frode let go of him, and let his hands rest next to his head in surrender.

‘They were right,’ Jens hissed. ‘You’re exactly like him. A cowardly, selfish motherfucker.’

The comparison made Frode see red. He sat up, forcefully head-butted Jens in the face, and yanked one of his arms out from underneath him to make him lose balance. He brought up one of his legs to kick Jens off him, then scrambled up. It was tempting to keep the blows coming, but Jens did not deserve that.

‘You’re wrong.’ Frode wiped the blood from his beard with his cycling jersey, panting. ‘I wouldn’t abuse Kristin’s trust like that.’

Jens sat up in a daze. He carefully felt his teeth.

‘What’s different this time? How can I trust that you won’t accidentally-on-purpose off yourself when it’s just you and your issues and your addictions all the way over in Stavanger? Don’t think I’m letting you leave if I don’t get a good answer.’

Frode squatted in front of Jens and took his chin in hand to survey the damage. Blood welled up from a cut in his lower lip, running into his mouth and staining his teeth yellow. He offered Jens a hand to help him up. Jens angrily picked gravel out of his cycling shorts, spat on the ground, and wiped his mouth with the entire length of his freckled arm. Frode handed him his mountain bike. Beneath his sunglasses and helmet, Jens’ face became unreadable.

Frode mounted his bike and set a brisk pace to get rid of his excess adrenaline. The rattle of a clumsy gear change notified him of Jens’ position before he managed draw alongside.

‘If you want to worry about something, pay some attention to Espen when I’m gone. Mum and Stein are going to have a rough time picking up the slack.’

Jens nodded, too out of breath to answer.

‘You know what?’ Frode suddenly decided. ‘I’ll come back for him on my next leave. Trust in that.’

 

***

 

A light rain began to patter against the living room windows. Espen listened to his father playing the piano, and wondered how long it would be until he could play music again. His shoulder – actually, every movement of his right arm – still hurt immensely, but that would pass in time. The numb leg he would have to work around where music was concerned, but he wouldn’t be the first disabled musician, nor the last. He found peace in that thought after his first visit to the rehab centre.

Stein played Rachmaninoff with a frustration that didn’t stem from his mastery of the piece. Espen let the moody music take him away, let the cascading notes wash over him. He’d never consciously witnessed his father as a concert pianist. Stein had ended his career long before Espen had the self-control to keep his mouth shut in a concert hall. Espen wondered whether his father ever regretted his decision to stay home for the children.

‘Pappa,’ Espen said when the last chords died away and his father poised to begin a new sonata. ‘Why didn’t you ever tell me Mozart wrote a song called ‘Kiss my arse?’

‘What…?’ Stein asked. He let out an uncertain laugh.

‘I know vocal music isn’t your area of expertise, but this is quite a noteworthy fact.’

‘Where did you get this?’

‘A magical and wondrous place called the internet. I have a lot of time on my hands.’

‘I’d almost think you’re pulling my leg,’ Stein said, glancing over his shoulder, ‘but you never know with Mozart.’

‘It’s a canon for six voices in b flat. Give me your tablet, I’ll show you. I swear I’m not making this up.’

It worked. His father finally stood up, his sombre mood yielding to curiosity. Espen took the tablet from him, and looked up the video of  _Leck mich im Arsch_ _, K.231_ , a performance with the score embedded. Stein listened to it with an incredulous shake of his head. Espen nudged him until he admitted it was funny.

‘Will you play something fun for me now?’

‘What would you consider fun?’

‘My favourite musical activity is hitting things with a stick. I’m easily amused.’ Espen stuck out his tongue.

‘Mozart, then?’

Espen lay back on the sofa and closed his eyes to listen to a piece his father had let him study a long time ago, before he’d taken up drums. He could remember the finger placement and the feeling of the pedals under his feet.

His mother’s presence remained unobserved until she kissed his forehead.

‘Did your foot just move, Espen?’

His eyes flew open. He pushed himself up to watch, but nothing happened. His leg remained as dead and useless as during physical therapy.

‘Did you just say…?’

‘Yes, I thought I saw something. Perhaps it was a trick of the light.’

Espen made a disappointed noise.

Marit pet his hair. ‘I’m going for a run. See you later!’

‘I want to run.’ Espen sighed when Spøkel trotted out of the yard after his mother. ‘Or bike.’

‘Sports are overrated,’ his father said absently over the music. ‘Much more dangerous than it is healthy.’

Frode and Jens came back sooner than expected. Caked mud covered Jens’ scraped shins, and sweat stains as well as blood darkened the material of their cycling gear. There was dried blood in Frode’s beard. Jens sported a split lip.

‘What happened to you?’ Stein twisted around on his stool. He looked between Jens and Frode, who shrugged as one. ‘Let me guess, you’ve been fighting like a pair of Neanderthals. Good job. Very mature.’

‘He started it,’ Frode muttered.

‘You’d do well to keep your trap shut,’ Jens bit at him.

‘I don’t even want to know,’ Stein decided. ‘Just don’t track mud all over the house. I don’t want to have to mop the floors again.’

‘Isn’t that what mum hired you to do?’ Jens held up his hand for a high five from Frode.

Stein played b flat - c - a- b flat, as solemn as the singers had brought Mozart’s vulgar text, and followed it up with an improvisation based off  _Leck mich im Arsch_. Espen burst into laughter.

Frode cast a suspicious glance between Stein and Espen.

‘I’m taking a shower,’ Jens announced.

‘After me, you mean.’

A brawl emerged in the doorway, ending with Frode tossing Jens onto the tiles of the hall with a shoulder throw that broke a choke hold around his neck. The mirror on the wall shook with the force of the impact. Jens’ back left an imprint of wet sand.

‘Goddamnit, lads, get lost!’ Stein called. ‘Save it for your own homes.’

Frode held down a struggling Jens with his foot, but changed his mind when Jens raised his eyebrows a certain way and opened his mouth. He ceded. ‘You’ve got ten minutes.’

‘What’s going on, Frode?’ Stein asked when Jens took the stairs.

Frode didn’t answer, and also disappeared upstairs.

‘I’m tempted to throw some punches as well,’ Espen said darkly, ‘but unfortunately they’d have to come to me – and I suspect that goes against what you’re trying to teach us.’

‘Well, at least one of you listens to me on occasion.’

‘That’s why I am your favourite.’ Espen shot Stein his most winning smile. ‘Right?’

Though Frode and Jens had trouble summoning even the barest respect for their father, Espen loved him enough for three.

‘What do you want from me?’ Stein asked mistrustfully.

‘A hug!’ Espen held out his arms, and laughed through the pain when his right fell before he could wrap them around his father’s neck.

Stein allowed Espen to mollify him to a certain degree.

 

***

                           

The tail end of  _Debt of Bones_  held Espen in its grip when the doorbell rang on Sunday afternoon. He protested loudly when Frode paused mid-sentence to hear who their mother greeted at the door, and raised his head from where he’d propped it on Frode's thigh. ‘You can't stop here!’

Frode located the spot where he had left off on the page. ‘…simultaneously the most enchanting and the most frightening-’

‘Look who's here to see you, Espen!’ Marit had an unremarkable girl in tow. ‘Come and find me later to catch up, won’t you, Linn?’

‘Absolutely, Marit,’ Linn replied. ‘It’s been way too long since we had a chat.’

She turned to Espen for the awkward sort of greeting between people who were once used to more intimacy.

‘So nice to see you.’ Espen looked at her with a shy smile, as if he was still half in love.

Linn sent Frode a curious look. ‘Has Jens gone feral?’

‘This is Frode,’ Espen explained while being hauled upright, ‘my eldest brother.’

Linn did not look anything like Frode had pictured her. Knowing Espen’s social circle, he would have expected a much more extreme appearance. Her plain, natural face framed by jaw-length, dark blonde hair was a surprise, as were the zip off cargos paired with a white t-shirt with a turtle on it. This was more the type of girl Jens would date.

‘How is Trondheim?’ Espen asked. 

Linn took a chair with the careless ease of someone who felt at home.

‘Woah, how about you tell me how you are, first.’

‘I'm fine,’ Espen bluffed. ‘A little incapacitated, but that's mostly unpleasant for my family.’

Linn looked sceptical. ‘Is that all you have to say about it?’

‘I told the story so many times. You probably have more interesting tales to tell.’

Frode migrated to the other side of the room to give them some space. He tried to read on in the book, but the topic of conversation distracted him. Linn regaled Espen with adventures from her first week in Trondheim, and Frode could not stop his memories of that place from surfacing while he read. The academy building in the snow. The colourful houses at the water’s edge. The sharp spires of the Nidaros cathedral against the twilit sky. Wandering, always alone in the corridors, the streets.

His decision to enrol at the Norwegian University of Science and Technology had caused an ongoing row with Jens in his last year of videregående skole. Jens preferred the University of Oslo, and was keen on the idea of re-joining Frode when he’d leave school two years later. Going by his mother’s advice, Frode had made his own plans.

The move across the country uprooted his entire existence. Distance unravelled most of his close bond with Jens, and there had been nothing to replace that contact in the unfamiliar city. Sometimes it felt as if he’d given up half his soul for academic success.

There had been other students at the seminars, he’d had housemates - Frode remembered some faces, but very few names. The only housemate he recalled with any clarity was the student nurse that pilfered drugs from St Olav’s university hospital in exchange for moonshine or help with his pharmacology homework. Frode wondered if that kid ever graduated, or whether he’d realised his true vocation as a drugs dealer by now.

The memory of the email in which Jens enthusiastically wrote about enrolling in Chemistry at the University of Oslo two years into Chemical Engineering still stood out in vivid detail, however. The accompanying feeling of desolate loneliness had etched it into his mind.

Espen used to send Frode childish letters with some regularity, but the stream dried up somewhere during Frode’s second year. He never replied to a single one.

In a way, the self-imposed exile and his academic accomplishments validated him like nothing, no one, ever had. He didn’t need anyone to make it on his own; he had earned his current position, paid off the minimal debt of his college expenses to his mother, and found his own place in the world. He’d found ways to deal with the loneliness.

A few more days, he told himself. A few more days and he would get on that helicopter and let the sea wind scatter his thoughts until there was nothing left of him but Offshore Operations Engineer Stedjeberg. He did not need any other part of himself on the rig.

Linn’s voice cut through his thoughts as he blindly stared at the pages of the book in his hands. ‘Espen told me you studied at the NTNU, too.’

‘Yeah, ah, I did _Chemical Engineering_ , and then a second master in  _Petrol Engineering and Geosciences_. How about you?’

‘Just Biology.’

Frode smiled to himself. In hindsight it should have been obvious from those zip off pants. He concluded the conversation by pretending he had somewhere else to be. ‘I hope you have a great time.’

In the kitchen he checked the time on his phone. There was an unread message in his inbox.

_How are you feeling? ~ Daniel_

Frode ran a hand across his jaw and sat down on the edge of the kitchen table. He supposed he owed Daniel more than ignoring the message or blowing him off with an evasion after Friday. Now that Espen had company, he actually did feel like talking to Daniel. That was probably the effect of the diazepam.

_Hey Daniel. Started meds yesterday. I feel better. How about you? ~ Frode_

After his fight with Jens, the urge to swallow a handful of pills and spend the rest of the day in bed had been strong. Somewhere he’d found the willpower to stick to the therapeutic dose. The fear, the anxiety, and the guilt had given way to quiet in his head and he’d slept dreamlessly. It was almost euphoric to be able to socialise in a normal manner today.

 _Good to hear. I just sent my manuscript to my prof. Nerve-wracking. ~ Daniel_  

_It sure is. What’s your thesis about?~ Frode_

_Algorithms for better data transfer. What are you up to right now? ~ Daniel_

_I was hanging out with Espen, but his ex is here now. ~ Frode_

_Why don’t you log in on Espen’s PC so we can talk? I’m on Ventrilo. ~ Daniel_

Marit was working in the study. She furiously checked calculations on an outdated Ti-83.

‘Mind if I talk in here, mum?’ Frode asked when he switched on Espen’s PC.

‘No, go ahead, darling. I'm almost done,’ she replied.

‘What are you up to?’

She laughed a little. ‘Wishing I’d studied Business Management instead of Pharmacology.’

Frode already heard Daniel talk before he good and well had the headset on.

‘Sauron! Shoo! Not on my keyboard.’ Loud purring briefly sounded through Daniel’s microphone.

‘You named your cat Sauron? Everything is Tolkien with you guys, isn't it?’

Espen devoted no less than two bookshelves to Tolkien’s collected works, and if Frode understood correctly, their band name was a direct steal from those pages. It made sense that Tolkien and black metal went hand in hand, he supposed, considering Tolkien’s glorification of Nordic culture and intrinsic racism.

‘Be that as it may,’ Daniel said, ‘you will understand why when I show you a picture of that orange bastard.’

 


	11. Chapter 11

Espen tossed his book back onto his nightstand, too distracted to read by Frode's morning ritual and his packing. The sound of a tap running could be heard in the bathroom, bags zipping up in the bedroom, and Frode stuffing his bedding into the laundry machine on the landing across from Espen's room.

This was the last time he would see his brother for what could be a small eternity, knowing him. Espen did not want to pressure him, so he hadn’t asked when Frode would come to visit him again. The distance that separated Stavanger and Vingnes made random visits impossible. He understood that Frode needed his rest and privacy between the weeks of intense twelve-hour shifts on the rig, and if he came back to Vingnes, Frode might feel obliged to take care of him again.

Espen could tell the past weeks had taken their toll on Frode. Though he said nothing, it was evident he was at the end of his rope. He seemed to feel a little better now that his departure drew near. The last three days had been nice. Espen regretted that Frode had to leave just as they found some space to really talk to each other.  Frode had spontaneously shown him his blog about his travels throughout Norway, tried his best to fill Espen’s head with knowledge about good food and cooking, and even listened to the EP Espen recorded with his band a year ago.

When Frode absently ran a hand through Espen’s hair while marathoning the Lord of the Rings films the previous night, it was easy to believe Espen had imagined his disdain and disinterest of the past.

Outside, Frode’s footsteps sounded in the gravel as he brought his bags to the car. The front door clicked shut behind him when he made his last trip upstairs.

‘You awake?’ he asked in a barely audible voice, entering Espen’s room.

Espen nodded, and extracted his arm from behind his head. Frode sat down on the edge of the bed to help him sit up.

‘It's time for me to go.’ Frode glanced out the window through the gap in the curtains, his mind already on the drive to Stavanger.

‘Yeah, have a safe trip. Will you be careful?’ Espen asked.

The familiar loss already gnawed away at his insides. He wasn’t at all prepared to let his brother go. The weeks since the accident had seemed endless at times, but this came too soon. There was so much he’d left unsaid.

Frode allowed him to scoot closer and wrap his good arm around his waist. When Espen's right arm did not quite cooperate, Frode let out an involuntary laugh. Espen head-butted him gently in the shoulder.

‘I don't want you to leave...’ He clutched his brother as tightly as he could.

‘Hey now, Little Lamb, I thought we'd gotten past this when you got out of kindergarten,’ Frode teased. ‘I really need to check whether my house is still standing before I get back to work. Mum and Stein will take good care of you, I promise.’

‘That isn’t what it’s about,’ Espen said, though he couldn’t put into words what was. ‘Stay a while longer.’

‘And then what?’

Espen pondered it. ‘Then I won’t have to miss you yet.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Once I’m gone, you’ll be glad-’

‘I always miss you, and it always sucks.’ Espen hid his face in Frode’s T-shirt and pressed his stinging eyes against his shoulder.

‘Is that so?’ Frode muttered. He smoothed a big hand across Espen’s hair.

‘I want you to know how much you mean to me.’ Espen took a deep breath and squeezed Frode’s arm to emphasize his words. ‘How much it means to me that you held my life in your hands, and didn’t let me go.’

Espen knew he wasn’t supposed to think it, but his brothers could easily have waited a few moments until shock had finished him off. He could only block out to a certain extent the knowledge that his brothers hadn’t wanted him there; not ever, not with anything, and that they’d gone to extreme lengths to make that clear in the past. That he’d doubted before whether he’d survive a situation where he’d been at their mercy.

Not in his wildest dreams could he have imagined that Frode would pull him back from the brink of death, let alone that he would shoulder the burden of his care without complaint. It had given Espen back a bit of self-worth he hadn’t realised he’d lost.

Frode’s fingers tightened in Espen's hair, and he muttered something that sounded like: ‘I’ll never let you go.’

 Espen relaxed the fist that scrunched up the back of Frode's shirt.

‘Thanks for being there when I needed you most.’

 

***

 

The weather turned from slightly overcast to heavy rain after three hours on the road. Thick grey clouds made the bleak landscape of the northern route to Stavanger even more cheerless than usual. Frode felt tired, even though he hadn’t taken any medication that morning in anticipation of the long drive.

The relief that he imagined he would feel at leaving Oppland did not come; the desire to leave the past weeks behind and get on with his life no longer enough to keep him going. Dereliction of duty did not even begin to describe the feeling that tore him asunder. He couldn’t pinpoint why Espen’s presence gave him hope of redemption against his better mind, only that he didn’t want to let go of that hope. Possibly because there would be nothing left for him if he did.

Whatever Espen said about Frode holding his life in his hands didn’t erase that he’d been careless with it in the first place. Despite their turbulent history, Espen had blindly trusted his brothers to take care of him. It had very nearly resulted in his death.

The monotonous sound of his windscreen wipers over the engine was beginning to get on Frode’s nerves. Without any distraction from the empty stretch of road, his thoughts kept going in circles. He turned on the radio in the hopes of transforming the noise inside his head into music, and discovered that Espen’s MP3-player was still hooked up to the centre console since their most recent drive to the sports rehab centre. He briefly considered the consequences of doubling back to return the thing. Espen needed his music. It was a good reason to postpone going home, but he probably wouldn’t be able to force himself back into the car a second time.

Espen’s favourite music had lost its infectiousness now that Espen wasn’t singing along. Amid Viking sagas, classical orchestras paired with electric guitars and screaming about snow and cold,  a slow piano intro demanded attention through its melancholic simplicity. The song relayed the story of someone asked by his hateful brothers whether he remembered the previous night. Frode listened to the text with equal fascination and horror. He and Jens had never buried Espen alive in the dead of night like in the song, but it rang true in a lot of aspects. Memories transported him back a decade or so.

_‘If you scream we’re letting go,’ Jens hissed, grimacing as he half-hung out of Espen’s bedroom window. Tendons and muscles rippled in his bare arms._

_Espen whimpered, and squirmed for fear of the drop from the first floor they threatened him with._

_‘Do you take it back?’ Frode took a better hold of Espen’s bony ankle._

_‘Take what back?’ Espen squeaked desperately._

_Frode nodded to Jens, his eyes veiled in shadows of the dark. Jens pretended to let go of Espen’s other leg. Espen gasped for breath and began to hyperventilate._

_‘Say it, you ugly little shit.’_

_‘I’m sorry,’ Espen pleaded. ‘I won’t ever do it again…’_

_Espen had no idea what they were on about anymore. That was the downside of having to wait for revenge on a dumb child. They would have to content themselves with this._

_Espen curled in on himself when they roughly dragged him back inside. He hid his head in his arms until only his white hair was visible, and tried to keep quiet. It didn’t matter whether he knew what he was being punished for. Frode got enough satisfaction from his frightened tears. Jens did too, judging by the shadow of his sadistic smile._

Frode took the MP3-player to skip the rest of the song. It was a mystery why this side of Espen, who non-stop listened grief, hatred, loneliness and fear of failure cast into metre and melodies, hadn’t gained the upper hand. That he could still stand to be around Jens and Frode - strove for it, even. Perhaps he had been too young to remember, or perhaps he actively repressed those memories.

_Frode and Jens had crept back through the dark hallway, and climbed noiselessly back into their bunk bed to feign sleep. Stein was at Espen’s bedroom door before long._

_‘What’s up, fuzzy bunny?’_

_Jens glanced at Frode from the top bunk as they strained to listen._

_Espen sniffled, but said nothing._

_‘Bad dream?’ Stein asked softly._

_‘… I think so,’ Espen whispered. ‘Can I sleep with you?’_

Aided by Espen’s music, unwelcome memories piled shame on guilt on disgust on horror, until it no longer shocked Frode to think how convenient it would be if he drove his car into the lake right now. For the first time in his life, he thought he might understand his father. There were things you couldn’t live with.

Somewhere in the no man’s land near Skaupsjøen, with the vast water-basin on his left and nothing but the sloping, barren mountains surrounding him, he stopped the car on the side of the road. The music raged around him and he thought about Espen, covered in blood and with mortal fear in his eyes.

There was no holding back the wail of misery that welled up from deep inside him. His conscience crushed him with the weight of mountains, and the footsteps of death hounded him until he could run no further.

Frode covered his face with his hands and wept. For his brothers, for his father, for the person he had become, until Espen’s playlist ended and he remembered he still had six hours of driving ahead.

In the late evening he stumbled into his apartment building. The light of his storage room hurt his eyes. A tension headache closed around his skull like a net. He put his camping gear back in its designated spot by touch, and tried to figure out what he wanted with the bag containing his climbing gear. His knuckles slowly turned white around the handles as he stood deliberating. He considered carrying the bag to the garbage containers outside, but if anything,  _he_  belonged in the trash, not the gear.

His palms tingled as if the rope burnt his hands all over again. He suppressed the memory before Jens could start to scream at him, and carried his remaining bags up the five floors.

The apartment was warm and stuffy after being uninhabited for more than a month. Frode dropped his bags to open every single window to the cool sea breeze. The tendrils of briny air wrapped themselves around him as he stood in the middle of his living room. Low sunlight bounced off the bare, white walls. The indeterminate dissatisfaction that always lingered here fell apart in painfully obvious components upon his return.

Mindless rummaging through his cupboards ended in the kitchen, where he tore open every single door with mounting frustration, and searched shelf after shelf for something with a decent alcohol percentage. A rational part of him protested that he had to go back to work soon, that he couldn’t afford to get completely wasted, that he had to keep the alcohol screening at the airport in mind.

He couldn’t feel relieved when he didn’t find any alcohol. The boxes of diazepam burned a hole in his bag, and the equation of how many milligram he’d have to take to get high automatically worked itself out in his head. With mild regret about not handing the pills to Jens he set to demolishing an old razor to cut a few up into powder.  

His phone beeped.

_You did a research master’s too right? Mind if I call you with some questions I have about thesis writing? ~ Daniel_

Frode tossed his phone in the direction of the couch and continued his grim pursuit. After nicking his shaking hands for a while, too scattered to get the right tools for the job, he got up and picked up his phone from the pillows.

 _Don’t you have a supervisor for that? I don’t know anything about_ He quit typing, erased the draft, and dialled the number.

‘Hi Frode,’ Daniel said breathlessly.

‘Hey Daniel.’ Frode tossed the remains of the razor in the bin. ‘What do you need to know?’

 

***

 

The dark clouds gathering over the fjords broke right before Frode reached his car. He didn’t bother to pull up his hood, and let it rain on him until his hair was soaking wet. Home wasn’t far. He tossed his backpack in the boot, where the water sliding off it formed a puddle on the upholstery. Water ran into the back of his neck when he took off his coat and kept standing with his face tilted up into the pouring rain. Today wasn’t a bad day.

At home, he quickly took a shower despite the time on the clock.

‘You’re late!’ Daniel called when Frode put on his headset.

‘A wizard is never late, nor is he early… You can finish that sentence yourself.’

Daniel laughed. ‘Did I mention that you are my ideal man?’

‘Not in those words,’ Frode said carefully. ‘Besides, I’m certain more people can quote Tolkien. Everyone’s seen those films.’

‘True, but not everyone has that self-destructive aesthetic I like so much.’

Frode set his camera bag on his desk to give himself something to do while they spoke.

‘What were you up to?’ Daniel asked.

‘Went for a hike,’ Frode said as he searched the bag. The SD card from Espen’s camera, which hadn’t survived the fall, had to be in there somewhere. ‘What was the deal with that thesis, then? Yesterday you mentioned it was structurally sound...’

When Frode had promised to take a look at the manuscript the previous night, Daniel had quickly dropped the subject.

_‘Are you glad to be home?’_

_Frode waited too long to answer._

_‘Hey, are you still there? You alright?’_

_He hesitated._

_‘It was a good thing you messaged me when you did. I was about to snort a couple of benzos,’ he forced himself to say._

_‘I’m here,’ Daniel reminded him. ‘Talk to me.’_

_Frode wished he could rest his head on Daniel’s shoulder again, feel hands in his hair and arms around him. He was adrift, out of control without the anger that had anchored him for so long, and painfully lonely. The gap between who he was and wanted to be, was supposed to be, could no longer be filled. It threatened to swallow him whole._

_‘This wasn’t the first time we put Espen in danger.’_

_‘You and Jens, you mean?’_

_‘Yeah. We purposely created an unsafe situation for him. I feel like such a psycho. I just didn’t care enough.’_

_Daniel kept silent, neither judging nor comforting._

_‘I started loving him too late.’_

_‘Put it from your mind that it’s too late for anything,’ Daniel said. ‘He won’t care where you’ve been at in the past if he knows you love him now.’_

_Daniel’s words had given Frode something to hold on to, given him courage to face the night alone with his thoughts. He had to keep moving forward._

‘I don’t need any help with the content,’ Daniel said over the headset, ‘but I’m not going to be the only one with a cum laude diploma when I want to get into a PhD program. I need to do better. Summa cum laude.’

‘Over-achiever.’

‘Says the man with two degrees.’

‘You’ve got me there.’

‘The maths and programming aren’t the problem, but academic writing isn’t my strong suit. I’m having trouble figuring out all those rules for putting my findings into words, and I still need to revise about fifty thousand of them.’

‘My brother’s better at this,’ Frode told him. ‘Jens wrote an actual dissertation.’

‘I don’t have anything to blackmail Jens with. Will you help me, or not?’

‘Send me your first chapter, we’ll go over it.’

Frode hooked Espen’s SD card up to the reader. Apart from photos taken during the first days in Lofoten, there were endless series of snapshots on it. Daniel dabbing the black and white corpse paint onto Espen’s face with a furtive smile; the skinhead and the short woman tuning guitars; Jostein helping Marius detangle the cables of his keyboards on a dark stage.

Going back further yielded pictures of Espen’s group of friends at festivals. The skinhead threw beer at Espen, who swung at people in the mosh pit, sweaty, sun-burnt and covered in mud. Jostein and Inger lay draped across a log, completely wasted. Daniel slept on the train, his head in Espen’s lap and his long hair trailing on the muddy floor. The least recent photos showed Espen and Jostein in historical clothing at a Viking market. Jostein had his wispy white hair in braids; Espen went nuts over a long knife with runes on the blade.

Frode uploaded all the photos and sent them to Espen.

‘The chapter should be in your inbox by now,’ Daniel said.

Frode opened the file and began to read Daniel’s methodology.

‘Listen… It’s not prohibited to use the word ‘I’, but it makes your text look more objective when you avoid it where you can. Who conducted that research about insect communication? Naming that person in your text shows you’re actively involved in the scientific discourse.’

‘Not so fast, I’m taking notes,’ Daniel implored. His fingers flew across the keyboard.

‘It’s pretty damn interesting.’ Frode read on in silence, and made corrections and notes in the body of text.

After a while Daniel said: ‘Nice holiday pictures. On Espen’s Facebook.’

‘Which ones did he put up?’

‘Don’t you have an account?’

‘I have a blog, that’s enough.’

‘I’m going to check that out.’ It didn’t take long for Daniel to make a disappointed sound. ‘Nature. Too bad, I was hoping for gym selfies.’

Frode shook his head, even though Daniel couldn’t see him.

‘You’re wasting your time.’ Aware how hostile that sounded, he added. ‘Better get to work on that thesis.’

‘I never waste time,’ Daniel said gravely. ‘I invest it.’


	12. Chapter 12

Florø airport was quiet, apart from the howling wind. It was early still - a little too early. Inside, at the helicopter service, Frode didn’t see any of his colleagues yet. He decided to wait before handing in his phone. Earlier, Daniel sent him a text asking his opinion on citations and footnotes, and though Frode suspected it was just a pretext to start a conversation, he went along with it.

_Notes at the bottom of the page have my preference. Leafing all the way to the end of a chapter is too much of a hassle. You’re up early, by the way. ~ Frode_

_I’ll think on it. Yeah m8 I have to get on with it today because I promised to go shopping with Jorunn (Marius’ girlfriend). If there is a true need for my superior taste I can’t say no, obviously. ~ Daniel_

Frode laughed out loud, thinking of Daniel’s plentiful, extravagant pairs of shoes.

‘Stedjeberg! Having fun all by yourself?’ Rahim, the System Automation Specialist, came to sit next to him and leaned in to see what he wrote.

‘What do you want to hear, Alfarsi?’

_Let’s hope Marius is into bizarre shoes and patent leather haha ~ Frode_

‘Have you finally got a girlfriend?’ Rahim asked, presumably because of the conversation about shoes. 

‘No,’ Frode said. ‘Not by a mile.’

‘Another six weeks passed, and no progress to show for it? Hopeless case.’

‘Where did you say you got your mail order bride again?’ Frode teased.

‘You take that back!’ Rahim punched him in the arm, laughing. ‘This is true love, I tell you!’

‘That’s what I’d say. No, but seriously, how was Iran?’

‘Stifling, in every sense of the word.’ Rahim shook his head. ‘Asman and I really couldn't put off visiting her family with the baby on the way, but.... It was hot and dusty and pretty frustrating.’

‘That bad?’

‘Man, I thought I was going to get an ulcer from all the irritation I swallowed to keep the peace…’

While Rahim launched into a tirade about his spoiled brothers in law, Frode typed a quick goodbye.

_Flying again in a minute. Good luck with the thesis. Email me if anything comes up. ~ Frode_

_I will. Have a good one. ~ Daniel_

Frode handed in his phone at the desk and attached labels to his overnight bag. He let Rahim go first at the alcohol screening. For the first time in forever, nervousness bubbled up in anticipation of the test, though there was no real need for worry. He’d abstained since his confrontation with Daniel, more than a week ago. The agitation he experienced was perhaps better explained by having to leave his medication at home than any justified anxiety over his behaviour. He couldn’t take the diazepam if he wanted to do this work without compromising his alertness.

Taking a survival suit from one of the staff, he followed Rahim to the safety briefing.

‘Did we both have a shit vacation?’ Rahim asked with an all-knowing look. He nudged Frode.  

‘My brother nearly died in an accident a couple of weeks back.’

Rahim grabbed his arms in shock. ‘No! What happened?’

‘Fell off a cliff,’ Frode said, struggling into the orange suit.

‘On vacation?’

‘Yeah, in the first week. He broke a lot of bones and ended up partially paralysed.’

‘That’s terrible. I can see you’re devastated.’

Frode averted his gaze from Rahim’s remarkably light eyes, green under his dark eyebrows.

‘So how is Jens doing now?’

‘It wasn’t Jens.’

‘What?’ Rahim scratched through the short hair in his neck. ‘I didn't know you have another brother.’

‘A half-brother. Espen. He still lives with our mother.’

They sat down at the back of the room to watch the screen with half an eye.

‘He’s doing well, considering the circumstances,’ Frode muttered. ‘Though– He called yesterday with a story about falling off the piano stool because he’d tried to transfer from his wheelchair without aid. I feel like I should’ve stayed with him.’

‘Hey. Maybe it’ll be good to take your distance for a while,’ Rahim said. ‘Who knows what might happen in a couple of weeks.’

Walking out of the airport building to the waiting helicopter, Frode braced for the impact of reliving the accident in vivid detail. Over time, he’d discerned a pattern in his seemingly random meltdowns. They happened every time he heard a medical helicopter flying over town. He gripped the strap of his bag tight, but no memories came. Entering the cabin, he took a steadying breath. Wrong type of helicopter, he supposed. 

During the brief flight to the rig, Rahim read the morning edition of Aftenposten while Frode stared out the window at the churning, foggy sea. Stepping out onto the platform, he lingered a second on the heli pad to breathe in the wind that tore at his suit. Then he shouldered his bag, and went to work.

 

***

 

‘Stein, could you please tell me what’s wrong before I have to leave?’ Espen heard his mother ask from the bedroom where she packed a small suitcase. ‘I'm not built for guessing games, and to be honest, I don't have time for them either.’

Espen lowered his book to his knees and listened in.

Stein busied himself with folding laundry on top of the dryer across from Espen's room. ‘I'm just sad you’re off to  _another_ congress  _all weekend_ after barely seeing you this week.’

‘Sorry, darling, I know it's getting old, but it comes with the job.’

‘The job.’ Stein heaved a long-suffering sigh.

Sometimes Espen wondered why his father never put his foot down and outright claimed the attention he wanted. He supposed that was more complicated when you were forty-seven than when you were nineteen.

His mother’s heels clicked across the wooden floor. ‘I promise I'll make it up to you.’

Espen picked his book back up when he heard his parents kiss.

‘When?’ his father murmured.

‘Soon. I'll miss you, darling.’

‘I'll miss you more,’ Stein said glumly. ‘Go say goodbye to Espen, I'll take your suitcase to the car.’

The carpeting in Espen's room muted the sound of his mother's shoes, but he expected her.

‘Have fun at the congress, mamma.’

‘I'll try my best. I don't think I'll ever get used to speaking about financing in public. I'd rather present a hundred research papers.’ His mother kissed him. ‘Be good to your father.’

‘That's my default.’ Espen gave her his most winning smile.

The rummaging near the laundry machine resumed after his mother’s departure. Stein eventually came into his room and upended a basket full of black on Espen's bed. His hair was all over the place where Marit had apparently run her hands through it. Espen pushed his chair to the edge of the bed so he could help with the folding.

‘Now they've all abandoned us.’ He clumsily folded his underwear while his father made a neat pile of his band shirts.

‘Luckily we still have each other. The Stedjebergs and their jobs...’

‘I'd never snub you in favour of work, pappa.’ Espen rubbed his cheek on his father's shoulder. 

‘That's because you're more of a Heyerdahl anyway.’

The remark made Espen think of an afternoon long ago.

_Espen hid under the table where Frode and Jens did their homework, and pretended to read one of Jens’ books. He couldn’t make any sense of the words, and he’d rather play outside, but he wasn’t allowed out in the snow alone. Above the table, Jens sounded disgruntled. Pappa had forbidden him something. Jens’ complaint resonated with Frode._

_‘I’m sick of having to listen to Stein at all. He’s not even our father.’_

_Espen snuck out from underneath the table and climbed the stairs to find his dad. ‘Stein,’ he called in the same aloof tone of voice Frode always used. ‘Why aren’t you our dad?’_

_Stein, who was stuffing laundry into the washing machine, looked sad for a moment. ‘I’ll explain it to you, Espen.’_

_In the bedroom, he dug up a photo album from when Frode and Jens were little. In a photo on a yellowed page, they played in a barn in overalls; Frode dragged a bucket behind him, and a cow curled her tongue around the hay Jens offered her in his small hands. At the back of the barn stood a big, wheat-blond man with a ginger beard whom Espen had never seen before._

_‘Frode and Jens’ dad went away to see if he could find a better place for himself,’ Stein gently explained._

_‘But when he’s found it, will he come back and take us there?’_

_‘No, Espen,’ Stein said. ‘That dad can’t ever come back.’_

_Espen bit his lip. He thought it was a horrible idea that fathers could just leave._

_Stein hugged him tightly. ‘It wasn’t fair to Frode and Jens for him to leave, and mum still gets sad sometimes that their dad isn’t around anymore.’_

_‘But what about me?’ Espen asked in alarm._

_Stein sat down in front of the big mirror on the wardrobe with him, and made him look, really look, at their reflections._

Espen tossed his underwear into the open drawer. ‘Not a single ginger hair and no talent for chemistry... I suppose that’s true. I get that they have a passion for their field, but why do they love working these kinds of hours so much? Frode looked way too happy to be going back to work.’

Stein lowered his eyes for a brief moment before meeting Espen's. ‘I worry about them sometimes. Your mum used to talk to me, but Frode...’

_In the dead of night, Espen crawled into bed with his parents. He whispered: ‘Are Frode and Jens not my brothers, then?’_

_Stein sleepily slung an arm around him. ‘Of course they are.’_

_‘Half-brothers,’ Marit murmured._

_That was the moment something Espen had only recently become aware of fell into place. He only half-belonged._

‘…I don't know Frode like I know you, like Jens lets himself be known,’ Stein continued. ‘He was already seven or eight when I first met him, and there's this wall I run into when trying to talk to him.’

Espen nodded. ‘Yeah, me too.’

Stein shot him a faint smile. ‘The perks of being a modern nuclear. The two of us are a step behind at times.’

‘Do you ever feel like an intruder?’

Stein hesitated, then nodded. ‘Definitely, at first. Frode used to glare at me with these baleful little eyes. Jens was much more open and curious. He doesn't remember his father, but he’s been conditioned to channel the grief of the rest of the family. I was quite incapable of recognising what they needed at the time. Maybe I was too naïve about it. I was twenty-five, and hopelessly in love with a woman who had eight years, two kids and a marriage on me.’ Stein quietly laughed to himself. ‘The first time I called Frode my son - I think that was after we had you - I was afraid that he would deny it on the spot. Imagine my relief when he let it slide.’

Espen didn’t laugh, and wrapped an arm around his father.

‘If I wouldn’t have had you, Espen…’ Stein said in a suddenly wavering voice. ‘You’re the only one who legitimises my presence here.’

‘Pappa, are you serious?’

‘It’s all one-way traffic. If I’d lost you… I couldn’t have done it anymore.’

 

***

 

A boy with blond curls ran ahead, light-footed on nebulas that formed stars and galactic clusters under his feet. It was dark and silent around them. Only that little white head illuminated the way. Frode feared for him, called out to him to be careful, but the sound of his voice was swallowed by the vacuum of outer space. A familiar melody spelled out a warning in his head.  _Starchild, in a sea of stars you fall…_

Frode quickened his pace. He gained no distance; the clouds gave him no support under his feet. He called out again, but went unheard. The boy disappeared from sight, sank through the clouds and plummeted like a blazing meteor through the darkness. Frode fell to his knees, tried to claw his way through the nebulas with bleeding hands, after him.  _You fall like a burning star, child-_

‘Hush, Stedjeberg,’ whispered a voice. ‘Are you awake? Hey, open your eyes, man.’

Rahim squatted in front of Frode, where he tried to dig through the linoleum of the dimly lit hallway. The black cord of the sensor Rahim wore around his neck dangled over a sweater he’d pulled over striped pyjamas.

‘What were you thinking? This is a nice time of night to make a scene?’ Rahim’s eyes were dark and unreadable in the shadows the lamps on the walls cast.

‘I’m looking for my brother,’ Frode mumbled. ‘I just saw him a moment ago, he-’ He looked at the beige linoleum under his hands, and the white walls around him.

‘You won’t find him here. Which cabin is yours?’ When Frode kept casting searching looks around, Rahim angled for the sensor underneath his shirt to look at the number on it. ‘Come on, get up.’

Rahim led him through the hallways with a hand on his shoulder. Frode’s head slowly cleared as they walked.  

‘Were you dreaming about it? The accident?’ asked Rahim.

‘Not really, no. About Espen, but… he was a small child. He fell, and I-’

‘It haunts you, still,’ Rahim spoke softly when they arrived at Frode’s door.

Frode nodded. ‘I can’t let it go.’

‘It’s in the hands of the Almighty whether your brother will recover, but you need to deal with this, man,’ Rahim stressed. ‘Do you ever talk to anyone about it?’

‘Sometimes. Now,’ Frode said, opening the door.

Rahim squeezed his shoulder. ‘I’m praying for Espen’s recovery. He’ll walk again, Insha’Allah.’

‘Thank you,’ Frode said, not because he thought it would help, but because of the unmistakable compassion behind Rahim’s words.

‘Try to catch some sleep.’

‘Sorry about all the fuss,’ Frode said awkwardly. ‘Goodnight.’

He closed the door behind Rahim and crawled into bed. Espen’s MP3-player was still playing music where it lay next to his pillow, but had moved on from Wintersun’s  _Starchild_  to Dimmu Borgir’s  _Stormblåst_. Frode turned it off. Espen’s voice sung on in his head.  _I fall like a burning star!_

 

***

 

Espen couldn't believe how much his leg muscles had deteriorated now that he slowly had to put his trust in them again. His broken leg and spine ached whether he moved or not, and sometimes it was as if he could feel the chafe where his tissue encapsulated the orthopaedic implants. At night, he often woke up with cramps because the muscles around his broken vertebrae had locked up, or from shooting pain in his right leg, which was slowly beginning to regain functionality. When his father took him outside in the wheelchair under mild coercion, he told everyone who stood still long enough that Espen could stand again with a little help.

‘Come on, Espen.’ Eva, the physical therapist who usually oversaw his rehabilitation, encouraged him. ‘Try it.’

With his hands on his knees, Espen tried to stand up out of the chair that she’d placed at the beginning of the handrails. Hands on his sternum and between his shoulder blades corrected his posture as he took up a shaky standing position. Espen steadied himself with his left hand, and loosely laid the right on the opposite rail.

Eva supported his right side as he put his left foot forward in a careful shuffle. She walked with him, and held him by the belt around his waist. That gave him confidence during the extreme exertion. He managed to drag his badly responding legs the entire way to the end of the bridge.

Eva smiled at him. ‘How does that feel?’

‘Good!’ Espen let out a relieved laugh. A weight lifted off his shoulders with this accomplishment.

His eyes slid over to where his father was watching him. Stein beamed, and gave him the thumbs up.  

‘It won’t be much longer, pappa,’ Espen vowed when his father pushed the wheelchair to the car.

‘Perhaps you should tell Frode. I think he’d love to hear that you’re doing so well.’

Espen nodded hesitantly. ‘He hasn’t answered my calls lately, but I’ll try again.’

When they backed out of the parking lot, his phone went off. It was Daniel.

‘Hi!’ Espen’s good mood consolidated, hearing his voice. ‘What’s up?’

‘Well, I haven't left my room in the last three days, but thank god Marius feeds me every now and then.’ 

‘Is it that bad? I thought you’d be done by now.’

‘It was going faster when I had help from your brother. Though… I had trouble concentrating back then as well.’ He laughed quietly.

The conversation fell dead for a moment.

‘Did you call for a specific reason?’ Espen asked when Daniel didn't hang up.

‘Actually, yeah. Do you think it would be bad form if I didn't go to the band meeting? I'm having a hard time stopping with the end in sight.’

The thought of not seeing Daniel this week left Espen with a strangely empty feeling.

‘I don’t want to be in public transport for six hours when I’ve got something better to do,’ Daniel continued, ‘but on the other hand, I don’t want to miss this either.’

‘Why don’t you come up with a new date? I'm sure we can reschedule if you can sort it out with Marius' internships.’

Daniel made an unhappy sound. ‘I don't want to inconvenience Marius. He's super busy with surgery.  Last Tuesday he was away from six in the morning till eight thirty in the evening. I don’t think that should be allowed, even.’

‘It’s shouldn’t be, it’s insane.’

Daniel fell silent again, lost in thought.

‘This is probably a dumb idea,’ Espen suggested, ‘but if you sleep over you won’t have to travel all day.’

‘If I stay over we're going to end up talking through the night,’ Daniel reminded him.

Espen set his disappointment aside. ‘I'll let everyone know you can't make it, then. From when on are you available again?’

‘The deadline is the twenty-second,’ Daniel provided. ‘So how have you been, Sheepie?’

‘Been in a lot of pain recently, but I made some progress in rehab today, so I'm feeling reasonably okay.’

‘Reasonably?’

‘I miss my brother. And you.’

‘We’ll see each other again soon,’ Daniel promised.

Soon was not the word Espen would use to describe Daniel’s deadline. He hated the passivity that came with his current state; he’d kill to be able to just get on a train and visit.

‘What did you do in rehab, then?’

‘I walked.’

‘What?’ Daniel shouted in his ear. ‘That’s amazing!’

‘Not all by myself, but it’s a start. Ever seen a new-born lamb try to walk? Yeah, they’re better at it on average.’

‘I have to see that!’ Daniel cheered. ‘Fuck that thesis, sign me up for a sleepover.’

 


	13. Chapter 13

Worn out by hours of prolonged fear and panic, Frode closed the doors to the crisis room behind him. He stood temporarily stunned, the merciless accusations echoing through his head.

‘Everything under control, bro?’ Rahim asked from behind his PC.

The immediate danger had ended since Frode was able to reroute the hydrocarbon flow, and the data from the secondary offloading circuit had stabilised before they’d made the conference call to the Onshore Project Managers, but Frode was far from in control.

That morning, junior mechanics under his command unwittingly damaged a new pipe segment that was supposed to replace the old one, and installed it anyway. Frode had overlooked the resulting fluctuating data - he couldn’t even say where his head had been at - and discovered the resulting leak too late. It caused a huge mess on the compressor deck, and the other team of mechanics had already been calibrating the secondary offloading circuit when Frode found out.

The panic that had taken hold of him when he had discovered that the stock of critical spares and chemicals he was supposed to maintain for the repairs and maintenance on the compressors was incomplete only began to ebb now. Everything blurred together from the moment he’d run to the Installation Manager with the intention of shutting down the platform and evacuating it. Ultimately, they’d been able to avoid downtime because the secondary offloading circuit became available again, but Frode couldn’t shake the consequences of his negligence so easily. The Onshore Project Managers had to make enormous costs to ship the missing spares to the platform as soon as possible.

They’d put Frode on the rack for letting things come this far in the first place, and the criticism was completely justified.

It might have been easier if he could have given a reason for his sudden failure, but Frode kept his mouth tightly shut about his rebound insomnia. He hadn’t counted on such a violent return of his issues after putting his diazepam use on hold. The only reason he wasn’t being kicked off the platform on the next helicopter was probably his immaculate service record so far. He vowed to do everything in his power to rebuild the damaged confidence over the next week.

‘Yeah, I’ve got it under control,’ he eventually told Rahim, because he didn’t have the heart to talk about it.

‘Let’s grab some dinner.’

Frode shook his head. ‘I’m going to go clean up the deck.’

‘You sure about that? I’ll have them save something for you.’ Rahim locked his computer.

‘Thanks. You’re a hero.’

Frode zipped up his overall, took his helmet and safety goggles from his desk, and descended the metal stairs.

A little past midnight, with the raw oil finally washed off his hands and some food in his stomach, he numbly returned to his cabin. Through the window he briefly watched the wind whip up the waves around the rig. With the incident report he’d need to file in the morning on his mind, he got into bed.

The more he pressured himself to go to sleep in preparation of the next long work day, the more his heartrate increased. He got back out of bed with the intention of tiring himself further at the gym, but his feet led him to the recreation room, where he got behind a computer and opened a chat window.

_Frode: Hey, how are you?_

_Daniel: You’re here :) I’m fine. Busting my arse but the thesis is looking good._

_Frode: Good job, I’m curious. Will you let me read when it’s done?_

_Daniel: Sure. You’re up late. Doesn’t your shift start at seven?_

_Frode: Can’t sleep. I don’t know how I can keep this up for another week. I almost fucked up the entire installation today._

_Daniel: What? How?_

_Frode: I left my pills at home and I’m so worried about Espen I’m going insane here_

_Daniel: Frode. Don’t worry about Espen. He walks again._

_Frode: What?_

_Daniel: He’s going to be fine. I talked to him the other day._

_Frode: You’re serious._

His eyes burned, either from exhaustion or emotion, and he laughed in disbelief.

_Daniel: I am. Going to see for myself on Friday._

_Frode: I really needed to hear that. I’m so glad to talk to you right now._

_Daniel: So am I. I miss you._

Frode’s hands shook as he typed:  _I miss you, too._

He missed Daniel’s enlightening advice, and his rare smile; his sincerity, his devotion, and even his cheeky flirting. He had never dreamed he would ever be able to completely be himself in someone else’s presence; that someone would see him for who he was, and leave him his dignity despite everything. Would show him what trust looked like. It suddenly didn’t matter anymore that that person was a boy with a long ponytail and a piercing.

_Frode: I miss you incredibly, and I want to see you again._

_Daniel: Come to Oslo when you’re ready. I’ll be waiting for you._

 

***

 

Daniel and Marius were late. The weather wasn’t in their favour - it was pouring - but Espen had trouble suppressing his impatience. The story Inger told, about a particularly rude client she'd had to deal with today, barely came across as they made coffee in the kitchen. Staring through the darkened window, Espen sloshed hot water over his hands when he spotted two shadows running through the rain.

‘Still a little unsteady on your feet?’ Inger held his hands under the tap, and rubbed his back.

‘You can say that again…’

Inger stood on her toes and bent across the counter to look outside. ‘Jostein! Open the door, will you?’

The conversation between Jostein and Arvid in the living room quieted, and changed tone upon arrival of the others.

‘...haven't had time to listen, I'm bloody swamped, mate,’ Daniel answered Arvid’s question.    

‘Then what the hell are you doing here, you useless hairball?’

‘I’m here for the lamb, if you must know.’

Inger pried the coffee cups from Espen's hands to take them to the living room. She passed Daniel in the doorway.

‘Did you both forget my number or hadn’t you showered yet, today?’

Daniel smacked her butt and entered the kitchen.

‘Don’t laugh,’ he warned Espen, who angled for a set of towels in one of the cupboards with some difficulty. Daniel’s hair left wet patches in his shirt.

Espen couldn’t hide his smile. ‘Towel?’

‘Guess.’ Daniel looked at Espen expectantly when both of them remained on opposite ends of the kitchen. ‘Go on, then, walk!’

With a hand on the furniture, Espen kept his balance while shuffling towards Daniel, awkwardly clutching the towels to his chest.

‘I’m so happy for you!’ Daniel’s eyes shone. He pried Espen’s hand off the back of a chair and embraced him with utmost care.

‘Glad you made it.’ Espen waved at Marius through the doorway.

‘Purely selfish motives. We really need to talk.’

‘What’s wrong?’ Espen waited for an explanation with an ominous feeling, but Marius interrupted them.

‘Later,’ Daniel murmured.

Marius dabbed at his face while Daniel wrung out his tail. Espen shuffled to the living room, and lowered himself onto the couch between Inger and Jostein.

It was a challenge to let go of Daniel’s words long enough to focus on the topics of the band meeting.

‘Are you tired, Espen?’ Jostein murmured. ‘You’re kind of quiet, for your standards.’

‘I swear I'm paying attention,’ Espen whispered back. He hoped someone else was taking mental notes on the meeting's topics.

‘Good job on the walking, by the way. Wouldn't have thought, last time I saw you.’

‘Told you I had good motivation. I don’t want to lose you guys.’

Jostein drew him into a one-armed hug. Espen noticed that he was, in fact, tired, and snuggled up to him. The three guitarists banged on about the technicalities of recording for a long time.

‘Isn't it about time for us head home?’ Marius asked when the evening progressed with no end in sight.

‘No, I'm sleeping here, mate.’ Daniel shot Espen a look.

‘What, and you didn't tell me, you cunt?’ Marius sounded indignant. ‘Am I supposed to take the train alone?’

‘Stay here,’ Espen offered. ‘It’s not like you have work in the morning, right?’

‘No, I don’t…’ Marius looked doubtful.

‘I promised Daniel earlier that I won’t keep talking all night. You can take my brother’s old room.’

By the time they saw the older members of their band off it was so late that the three of them quietly made their way upstairs. Long after the rummaging in the bathroom and the low murmurs in Jens' old room died down, Espen still wondered what Daniel had wanted to talk to him about. Just before he fell asleep, the sound of socked feet outside his door preceded the soft squeak of his door handle. Espen turned on his bedside lamp and squinted against the light. Daniel snuck into his room, carrying his pillow.

‘What's up?’ Espen whispered.

‘Marius has been texting Jorunn for the last half hour, and I got tired of watching his phone light up the room. I’m here for my peace and quiet.’ Daniel shivered in his t-shirt and boxers. ‘Budge up.’

Espen scooted towards the wall and lifted the covers in silence.

‘My parents are going to be pissed when they hear I was here without paying them a visit,’ Daniel said with his eyes on the ceiling. ‘They asked me to come meet the new foster child.’

‘Another foster kid?’ Espen exclaimed in surprise.

‘Seems like they’re going to keep at it until they find a son that does live up to their standards.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous! You can’t really believe that’s what motivates your parents.’

‘Look at it from their perspective. My sisters turned out fine, but…’

Espen scoffed. ‘Your sisters. Reidun got engaged at nineteen just so she can sleep with that creep Andreas, Mette dropped out of school when she got hitched, and what’s Liv even up to these days?’

‘She joined Greenpeace. Let’s see how long it takes before she finds another “vocation”.’

‘I mean, that’s fine, but around here, _their_ life choices would raise eyebrows. You deserve every respect for who you are and what you’ve accomplished. If your parents don’t see it that way, they’re stupid.’

Daniel fell silent, a pensive expression etched into his profile.

‘What did you want to talk about earlier?’ Espen tried.

It took a minute for Daniel to respond. ‘Your brother.’

Espen rolled onto his side to look at him.

‘I’m in love.’

‘Oh,’ said Espen. ‘Is he?’

‘When I talked to him the other day, he said he wanted to see me again. I’m just not sure if that’s because he likes me, or because he’s latching on to the first person who treats him kindly.’

‘Well, I’ve been nice to him for years, but that’s never led to any reciprocity. He does talk to you, then?’

A cautious smile appeared on Daniel’s face. ‘Yeah. It’s difficult to gauge his intent from chat messages, though.’

‘I find him difficult to gauge, period. Frode shoves his emotions so far down they end up in the land behind the magical wardrobe.’

Daniel shot him a puzzled look.

‘Narnia. C. S. Lewis? Tolkien’s friend, who kept telling him to shut up about elves?’

‘Gap in my cultural knowledge, I presume?’

‘Definitely. It has Christian themes, too. Your parents really missed the boat there.’

Daniel prodded him. ‘You’re going on a tangent.’

‘Anyway, it sounds like you’re right on track. You don’t need me in this.’ Espen faced the wall to try and sleep.

‘I do,’ Daniel said quietly. ‘I need you to put me back together again when he breaks me into little pieces later.’

Espen held his silence.

‘Hey. What’s the matter?’ Daniel squeezed his shoulder.

‘I don’t want him to have the power to hurt you,’ Espen whispered. He didn’t want Frode to take away his best friend only to get him back broken.

Daniel wrapped an arm around him. ‘Forget about it.’

Espen shook his head. ‘No. I’m here if you need me.’

He covered Daniel’s hand with his own to hold it in place. Daniel’s slowing breath stirred the short curls that escaped the base of Espen’s braid. Espen tried to find a more comfortable position in vain.

 

***

 

The sound of dog paws on the landing woke Espen from a deep, exhausted sleep. On the weekends, Spøkel often snuck upstairs to join his mother in bed when she heard his father get up. Espen tried to roll over to continue sleeping, but a stabbing pain shot up his lumbar spine from his pelvis. His legs remained where they were. He couldn’t feel the right.

Espen’s eyes shot open. He tried to suppress panicked breathing. The surreal thought that he had a relapse, or that he’d merely dreamed he could walk again grabbed him by the throat. Lifting his head hurt too much to follow through with the movement. He cursed.

‘’s Wrong?’ a voice near his collarbone mumbled.

‘My back- My leg- I can’t-’

‘Oi… calm down.’ Daniel moved his leg off Espen’s. ‘Better?’

Espen tried to pull up his right leg to rub it, relieved that it must merely be asleep because of Daniel’s weight on it. The pain in his lower back remained. He was scared to move, to make things worse. 

‘No,’ he brought out. ‘Something isn’t right.’

He anxiously wondered whether he’d destroyed all the progress he’d worked for in the past weeks with one movement.

‘Shit.’ Daniel jumped out of bed and cast around for something to do, biting his lower lip. He hurried out of the room to pound on the next door, calling Marius’ name.

‘Get out of bed! Time to do your doctor-thing!’

Marius preceded Daniel into Espen’s room, and put on his glasses with a yawn.

‘Morning,’ Espen said sheepishly, a little reassured by Marius’ presence.

‘What happened?’

‘I threw my back out or something.’

‘Where does it hurt?’ Marius sat on the bed cross-legged, and shoved his hand under Espen’s back to feel where he indicated. ‘Right. And when you lift your leg?’

‘I feel every movement there- Even when I try to move my arms or neck.’

‘Yeah, that’s these muscles here...’ He pinched the muscle on either side of Espen’s spine. 

‘Ow! Fucking hell, Marius!’

‘Nothing too serious. Painful, though. Daniel, grab him some painkillers and a glass of water, will you?’ When Daniel crept out of the room, Marius asked: ‘Okay, seriously, though, what were you guys doing?’

‘Stop imagining things. He’s in love with my brother.’

Marius pulled a face. ‘Let’s pray those two never get together. I think that might be one of the harbingers of the Apocalypse.’

Balancing a glass of water and a strip of ibuprofen, Daniel stepped back into the room. Marius held Espen’s head up to swallow one of the pills, and placed another one on the nightstand.

‘Call your GP and ask for muscle relaxants. Moving is going to hurt the coming days.’

Espen nodded carefully.

‘Sorry,’ Daniel mumbled.

‘Go take a shower, Dan,’ Marius ordered. ‘We need to get back to Oslo. I have plans with Jorunn, and you have a half-finished thesis waiting for you. Imagine having to tell that ginger tyrant you missed your deadline.’

Laughing hurt, too, Espen found out when Daniel slammed the door shut behind him.

‘Need help getting out of bed?’

‘I think I’m just going to stay in all weekend. It’s not like I have anything better to do, and I slept rather poorly.’ Rain began to drum on Espen’s bedroom window. ‘My dad will give you a ride to the station if you want to leave in a bit.’

‘Come on, sit up at least.’ Marius held out his arm to help Espen up.

Espen tried not to show that he had to grit his teeth to get through it. Marius headed for the bathroom when Daniel appeared in the doorway with a comb.

‘So, have you got a plan to win him over?’ Espen asked Daniel to continue their nightly conversation.

Daniel closed his eyes as he ran the comb through his endless hair and considered it.

‘He’s coming over next weekend, when he's back on shore.’

Unable to determine why the news left him feeling raw and unreasonably bereft, Espen merely nodded.


	14. Chapter 14

Spøkel left Espen in the dust, but he gave up on calling her back every few minutes. It had been a long day, and lack of distraction from pain and boredom left him listless. If he didn’t know better, he’d be tempted to crawl back into bed to sleep the day away.

His phone rang. Leaning on the crutch in his left hand, he fished it out of his pocket.

‘Marius, hey! Are you done with work?’

‘Yes, the ward was fairly quiet today. I’m walking home now. Are you vertical again?’

‘I’m walking the dog,’ Espen said with a faint sense of pride.

‘Excellent. For a minute there I thought you were just going to roll over and give up,’ Marius said. ‘Your dad fretted the entire way to the station… Has it bothered you much?’

‘I managed to straighten up for the first time on… Tuesday? Anyway, how was your week?’  

‘I had a good weekend. Jorunn and I went to this party with, well, her kind of people.’ Marius chuckled. ‘But it was nice. Surprisingly good music. And the internship’s going quite alright at the moment. Yesterday we consulted the Neuro department about a patient who came out of the OR in a delirium… So that neurologist suddenly tells me: “I wouldn’t hire you, with that ponytail.”’

‘What a dick.’

‘Yeah, but hang on… So the head of the surgery department hates that guy’s guts, right, and I know how this sounds, but he’s sailed with my dad for the past twenty years - so he tells the neurologist: “Bergström is destined for greater things than Volvo’s and corduroy pants, anyway.” I nearly pissed myself holding in my laughter. When I told my dad last night…’

Espen wasn’t sure what Volvo’s and corduroy pants had to do with anything. It made him feel ignorant and isolated, sitting at home while he should’ve been initiated into the secrets of the academic world like his friends. Still, he appreciated that Marius thought to call him and keep him in the loop.

‘… Tomorrow he’ll burn me to the ground again when I mess something up, but still.’ A door opened on the other side of the line. ‘Say, Asklund! What’s for dinner?’

‘I hope you weren’t counting on Dan actually preparing a meal,’ Espen said with a laugh. ‘I gotta go, though. I think I lost my dog.’

Spøkel had gone on home without him, and sat, panting happily, next to Inger in front of the door. Espen took a relieved breath despite the knowledge that the old shepherd could take care of herself.

‘She’s got no more patience with you?’ Inger patted Spøkel’s shoulder.

‘I wouldn’t, if I were her.’ Espen bent down to kiss her in greeting. ‘Good to see you. How was work?’

‘It sucked balls. I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘That same client?’

She shook her head. ‘Jostein’s working tonight. Want to have dinner together?’

‘Please,’ Espen said, delighted by the offer. ‘Here? I’m alone tonight, too.’

Inger nodded. ‘You still look like we shouldn’t move you around too much.’

‘That obvious, huh? Or did you hear…?’ He held open the door for her.

‘I always end up hearing everything. You lot gossip like old ladies. Though it never became quite clear whether you and Daniel got it on or not.’

Spøkel waited by the kitchen counter with a hopeful look in her eyes while Inger took out the ingredients she brought for dinner. Espen put the dessert in the fridge.

‘Inger, you know I love you, but that assumption is starting to get on my nerves. The fact that Daniel’s into guys doesn’t mean he can’t have regular friendships, right?’

‘That’d be the last thing I want to imply. This has nothing to do with assumptions, but everything with the fact that you two are so close. Different than with Marius, for example.’

Espen turned up the heat on the oven.

‘Easy, darling, it’s not meant to char…’ Inger dialled it down. ‘There’s wine in that bag. Go grab some glasses.'

Espen set the kitchen table while Inger poured.

‘Jostein’s going to finish my new tattoo tomorrow,’ she told him excitedly. ‘We nearly managed in one sitting, but that needle on my ribs… It’s going to be amazing, though.’

‘Really? Can I see?’

Espen had known for a while that he wanted a tattoo from Jostein one day, but he’d been waiting for inspiration to strike. When he opened one of his archaeology textbooks earlier that week, the perfect design had finally presented itself him. All he needed to do now was pluck up the courage to ask for an appointment.

Inger unbuttoned her blouse. Espen averted his eyes at the first glimpse of a black lace bra that didn’t leave much to the imagination.

‘Er, you really don’t have to- I didn’t mean-’ He blushed furiously when she laughed.

‘Look, it’s awesome, right?’

‘Yeah, it’s beautiful,’ he said, red-faced as he studied the geometric pattern shadowed by little black dots. It followed the curve of her ribs and breasts like an ornament on a baroque picture frame.

‘Linn must’ve had a field day with you.’ Inger buttoned her blouse back up.

‘Not sure she saw it that way.’

‘Are you the same with guys, or do you just have women on a pedestal?’

Espen looked at her, speechless and distracted, his thoughts stuck somewhere between Inger’s lingerie and the memory of Linn laughing at him in a similar way from underneath the shower. ‘How much do you think you know?’

‘I know about Linn, but I suspect I’m missing a few details from that morning at the Viking festival in Poland, when Jostein saw you crawl out of that ginger Dane’s tent with a hangover.’

Espen wasn’t proud of how easy he was when drunk. He’d only shared the details, as far as he remembered them, with Daniel. Daniel had lovingly called him a slut, and advised him to fess everything up to Linn. That had been the beginning of the end.

‘Does talking about this make you uncomfortable?’ Inger asked to be sure, grabbing oven mitts when the oven beeped.  

‘Not at all. I just can’t answer your initial question. I was too far gone to make any observations.’

‘There’s only one way to find out.’ Inger took a sip of her wine.

‘Well, if you know of anyone who might be interested, send them my way.’

‘Is that a challenge?’

‘It is for me.’ Espen stuck out his tongue.

Dark clouds rolled in across the mountains, and brought rain that quickly changed into hail. The light from the oven formed a halo around Inger’s chestnut hair.

‘This is nice.’ She kicked off her heels and rubbed a foot against Espen’s calf.

Espen whole-heartedly agreed with her.

 

***

 

It was getting dark by the time Frode arrived in Oslo. He checked the address Daniel had given him, at walking distance from the university hospital, against his current location, and crossed the street. The barely legible label underneath the middle bell read Marius & Daniel, as if it concerned a married couple. While he waited, Frode absently wondered which of them the bad handwriting belonged to; whether there was some truth in the stereotype about doctors. Light footsteps descended a number of stairs behind the closed front door, and Frode got caught up in a strange, surreal feeling, a tension he couldn’t place, as if he was in free fall with no idea when he was going to hit the ground. Wouldn’t it have been better if he’d gone on to Vingnes? He hadn’t seen Espen in so long.

The door opened. There was no going back now.

Marius peered through his spectacles with mild suspicion. ‘Hello. You’re here for Daniel, I presume?’

Marius led him up the stairwell. Frode followed him until they reached the living room of a spacious apartment. A goth girl in heavy make-up sat studying at a dinner table strewn with books. Marius took a seat next to her and laid a hand on her thigh. He immersed himself in a big red book. The absent-minded kiss she gave him left a black smudge on his cheek.

‘Daniel’s room’s over there.’ Marius pointed when he saw Frode glance around. ‘Go on in.’

Frode briefly hesitated with the door handle in hand. What if the he had made this a bigger thing in his mind than it was in reality, aided by distance and isolation?

His doubts dissipated as soon as he crossed the threshold. Seeing Daniel sit on his bed with a guitar in his hands felt familiar. This was the place he wanted, needed to be.

The fingers of Daniel’s left hand moved rhythmically across the fret board, and created music only he could hear through his headphones. He became aware of Frode’s presence at the door, but did not stop playing, which gave Frode the opportunity to study him. His face remained unmoved as he worked through the song, so different from Espen, who visibly laid his heart and soul in the music, whatever instrument he played. He closed his eyes during the last chords he struck, then muted the strings with his palm, and glanced up.

‘Hi,’ he said quietly. He pushed down his headphones and hooked his hair behind his ear. ‘Sorry. I haven’t been able to play in a small eternity.’

‘How’s that going, then?’

‘I haven’t completely unlearned it.’ Daniel stretched his fingers, and scratched the big red cat curled up next to him under its chin. ‘Meet Sauron.’

Frode squatted in front of the bed so as not to startle the cat. Sauron opened one malicious yellow eye, purring, when Frode pet his head. His other eye was missing.

‘I’ll admit, that name suits him.’

‘Told you.’ Daniel got up to hang his guitar on the wall. He tossed Frode a thick manuscript from the stack on his desk. ‘Look.’

‘Is this the definitive version?’ Frode sat on the floor with his back against the bed to take a close look.

Daniel nodded. ‘Handed it in yesterday. I’m quite nervous about it.’

‘Great job sticking with it, though,’ Frode said. He laid the manuscript on his knees to leaf through it.

Daniel scoffed, and sat down next to him. ‘There’s this bit in the conclusion where I left the punctuation of an old sentence in the middle of a new one. I didn’t notice until after I had it printed.’

‘You’re not satisfied.’

‘No, that’s not really me. Still, thanks for helping me out.’

‘Quid pro quo,’ Frode said.

Daniel pulled his eyebrows up in a suggestive manner. ‘What would you want?’

‘I meant that you helped me, too,’ Frode hastened to say.

‘Oh.’ Daniel lowered his gaze with a flustered smile. ‘I thought…’

As he leafed through the thesis, Frode absently planted a kiss on Daniel’s forehead to ease his embarrassment. He realised too late that he was crossing a line somewhere.

A hand crept across his sweater, and held him by the waist. Daniel raised his head in silence. Frode studied his pale face, his pointy nose and the curve of his lips, and pushed a strand of black hair back to better take him in. Daniel’s hopeful, vulnerable gaze begged him for something he wasn’t sure he could give.

‘I’m proud of you,’ Frode said. He turned back to the papers in his hands without really seeing them.

‘You have no idea how good that is to hear,’ Daniel muttered. He ran a hand through Frode’s hair. ‘How are you today?’

Frode took a deep breath, set the manuscript aside, and tangled his fingers with Daniel’s. ‘I’m good.’

There were more words to how he felt. They echoed in his head without translating to speech. His silence was not indifference, but now was not the time to lay them at Daniel’s feet.

Daniel’s eyes sought his.

On impulse, Frode laid his hand in Daniel’s neck, buried fingers in his hair, and pulled him the last bit of the way, rougher and a little more desperate than he’d intended. Daniel’s eyes closed in surrender.

He kissed with a natural empathy Frode could only answer with a raw longing, longing to know and be known, to destroy all boundaries between them in one go. Frode heard his own heartbeat loud in his ears, over the silent rustle of hands on clothes.

Daniel came to sit over him, kneeling on the rug next to his bed, and pulled Frode’s jumper up. The need to be touched manifested as a physical ache, but Frode wanted to be reassured before letting himself drown in the maelstrom of feelings Daniel woke in him.

He caught Daniel’s hands and held them a moment when Daniel started on his button down. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m going to give you everything I have.’

‘And what do you want in return?’

‘That you don’t hold back.’

Daniel bared Frode’s right shoulder and pressed a kiss to his collarbone. Under his T-shirt, his skin was soft and warm despite his slender, boyish build. Frode yearned to feel it against his own.

‘Get on the bed, then, before I take you here on the floor.’

Daniel’s demure composure shattered under his touch; he burned with the fire of wild magic and dark dreams. Naked, he likened one of the old gods, all unbearable beauty and terrible power; a force of the ancient land. Frode had searched so long for a place to worship.

Afterwards, Daniel smiled unfettered, infectious, innocent. He rained kisses on Frode’s sweaty face amid the black hair that curtained them and shut the world out. Frode felt light. Unburdened and well-loved.

He held Daniel in his arms wishing he’d never have to let go again, the artificial calm of his medication consolidated by genuine joy, and listened to Daniel’s sleepy breathing.

 

***

 

The distant clanging of pans and a calcified kettle woke Frode from his sleep. He needed a moment to find his bearings. The bed was facing the wrong way in relation to the light source, and he felt extremely warm. Hair tickled him everywhere; it was stuck in his beard and between his arms, with which he hugged Daniel close. He carefully lifted one arm to brush the black strands out of his face. Daniel sighed, and sleepily tried to roll over until he realised he was being held. Frode pressed a kiss to his pale shoulder, to one of the vertebrae in his neck, and to his cheek when he turned his face towards him.

In the absence of deadlines and obligations, the morning stretched out before them. Daniel slumbered on. Frode stayed awake, enjoying his closeness in silence. Marks of short nails stung on his back, and sticky sweat glued their legs together. He half-listened to the voices of Marius and his girlfriend on the other side of the door.

Somewhere in the pile of clothing on the floor, a message notification sounded. Daniel opened his eyes and scooted to the edge of the bed to fish for his phone. With the thing in hand, he snuggled back up to Frode, who could read over his shoulder.

_No news is god news or waht? ~ Espen_

Daniel laughed softly, and laid the phone next to his pillow.

Aren’t you going to answer that?’ Frode asked.

‘Not where you can see it.’

Daniel pushed himself up and stretched. Bruises in the shape of Frode’s fingers marked his narrow hips. Frode covered them with his hands.

Daniel’s stomach growled. ‘Hey, how about some breakfast?’

He got up gingerly, and searched between their clothes. In Frode’s shirt and his own boxer shorts, he shuffled out of the room. The door remained ajar. Sauron strutted into the bedroom and jumped onto the bed with Frode. The cat curled up against his legs, kneading his paws. Frode reached out to scratch his little head before getting similarly comfortable.

‘Sometimes I hate living with you,’ Marius said in the kitchen.

‘Now you know how it feels. I distinctly recall this one time I heard Jorunn through the walls  _and_  my headphones.’

‘He was on fire that night,’ Jorunn said, to which Daniel let out a hooting laugh.

‘Were you planning to head up north this weekend?’ Marius asked.

‘Yeah. Got a family thing.’

Next to Daniel’s pillow, his phone lit up again.

_Daniel I’m dieing of curiosity ~ Espen_

_Is Frode with you? ~ Espen_

_Are you stiil alive? ~ Espen_

_DANIEL TLAK TO ME ~ Espen_

Frode got up and grabbed his own phone.

_Go bother someone else, will you? ~ Frode_

_OH SORRY!!! ~ Espen_

‘What? What are you laughing about?’ Daniel asked from the doorway.

‘Espen has a need for attention and details, I think.’

Daniel scoffed. ‘Espen always needs attention. He has some sort of chronic attention deficit. If he were a dog, he’d be the kind that greets burglars with tail-wagging. The kind that sits in front of a grocery store and lets everyone pet him until his master returns.’

Frode shook his head with a smile. ‘Should I be getting out of bed?’

Daniel shot him a calculating look. ‘Marius needs ten more minutes.’

Frode tossed his phone back in the heap of clothes and set Sauron on the floor. Daniel pushed the ginger cat out of the room with his foot and closed the door.

It was early afternoon before they eventually got ready to make the trip to Vingnes. On the motorway, Daniel kicked off his boots and put his feet up on the dashboard.

‘What’s on your mind?’ he eventually asked.

‘You are,’ Frode answered honestly. The monotonous route gave him ample opportunity to dwell on that morning. Daniel’s marble limbs in the light of dawn. The stubble burn on his pale skin where Frode’s beard pricked him when they kissed. The way his head fell back and his mouth opened a little when Frode closed a hand around his throat. ‘This. Whatever it is.’

‘What do you want it to be?’

Everything, Frode thought. Everything he’d been missing. He hadn’t felt as human as Daniel made him feel in forever. ‘I hope we can continue like this.’

The part of Daniel’s face that he could see seemed to pull into a shy smile.

‘I wish I could stay with you today,’ Daniel said.

‘I’d love that. What about your family, though?’

‘I’d almost say fuck them, but I haven’t seen Liv in a while. My favourite sister,’ he explained. ‘Everyone’s coming to my parents’ house to plan Reidun’s wedding.’

‘How many sisters have you got?’

‘Three biological ones and a foster sister – you’ve seen Brit. And two foster brothers. Ivar is that cookie monster. We don’t talk about Pelle anymore.’

‘Are you the eldest?’

‘Does it show?’

Daniel laid his hand on Frode’s thigh and browsed through the music on Espen’s MP3-player. Every now and then he let out a derisive snort when he encountered bands Espen wasn’t supposed to like.

It took Frode by surprise how quickly time passed when he killed the engine in front of Daniel’s ancestral home in Lillehammer, a modest terraced house with the wood painted an ugly steel grey. It was hard to believe it could house that many children.

‘When will I see you again?’ he asked.

‘What’s a decent interval?’

‘Tonight?’

‘Or you could just come with me…’ Daniel leaned in for a kiss.

‘There’s a neglected dog waiting for me somewhere.’ Frode cast a glance at the far bank of the lake. ‘Let me know what’s a good time for you, I’ll come and pick you up.

‘That thought will keep me going once the Wrath of the Lord rains down upon me later.’

Frode tilted Daniel’s face up with his fingers. ‘Chin up, future king of hell.’

 


	15. Chapter 15

Spøkel’s barking became audible even before Frode had the chance to get out of his car. The old dog crouched for a moment when he opened the car door, furiously wagging her tail, and jumped up onto his lap. Her fluffy coat left clumps of white hair on his clothes with every movement.

Footsteps in the gravel made Frode look up from hugging Spøkel. Marit wrapped her vest tighter around herself as she approached. Her pale ginger hair danced on a gust of wind.  

‘Hello darling.’ She held out her arms.

Frode gave the dog a gentle push and got out of the car.

‘Happy to see you, mum.’ He lifted her off her feet to kiss her.

She took Frode’s face in her hands. ‘What a nice surprise to see you again so soon. Will you stay a while?’

‘If that’s okay with you.’

‘You’re always welcome here.’ She shivered in the cold wind. ‘You know I’d rather have you close. I don’t know what you’re still doing in Stavanger. Why don’t you come back to Vingnes?’

Frode wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided her back inside the house. ‘It’s not a bad idea. It wouldn’t make any difference for work.’

Marit glanced between the clock in the kitchen and the creases in Frode’s button down as she made coffee. ‘You didn’t come from Stavanger this morning.’

‘No, Oslo,’ he admitted.

‘Do tell…’ Marit pushed a mug of coffee towards him across the table top, and sat opposite him.

‘I was with Daniel, Espen’s-’

‘I know who Daniel is, darling. We all but adopted him,’ she said. ‘A social call, or did I miss something?’

Frode averted his face in an attempt to hide his stupid smile.

‘What’s this?’ His mother giggled. ‘Are you a couple?’

‘Something like that,’ Frode mumbled. ‘I hope so.’

‘How nice.’ Marit put down her mug with an intrigued expression. ‘Such a charming young man. He just needs to get over that metal phase. Cut off the hair, take out the piercing…’

‘Hey,’ Frode protested. ‘He’s fine like this.’

‘Ooh, you’re in love,’ she teased.

Frode threw back his coffee and stood up, partly because he felt his face redden, and partly because he had the feeling he was forgetting something. He wandered the house aimlessly for a while, put his overnight bag in Jens’ old room, and made his way back downstairs. In the living room, Spøkel raised her head from Marit’s feet.

‘Jens took him out,’ his mother said without looking up from her book.

‘Who?’

‘You’re looking for Espen, right?’

‘Yeah,’ Frode realised.

‘They’ll be back soon.’

‘Jens is here, too? Is Kristin working or something?’ 

‘The graveyard shift, I think.’

Frode tried not to think of Jens’ face when his relationship with Daniel came up.

‘He won’t hear it from me,’ said Marit, as if she could read his mind.

She went back to her book. Frode sat down next to her, and pried his phone from his pocket. He had a new message.

_I need to get out of here. Come pick me up? ~ Daniel_

_You’ve barely been there thirty minutes. ~ Frode_

_Altogether too long. ~ Daniel_

Before Frode could think of something to write back, footsteps approached the front door, which flew open with a bang.

‘Here comes Vicke Viking,’ Marit muttered.

Frode let out a laugh at the nickname his mother had come up with it around the time Espen started hand-sewing Viking clothing and building shields, calling it _experimental archaeology_ rather than _dressing up_. Espen used to love the cartoon and the books as a child.

‘You hear that, Espen?’ Jens said over the sounds of shuffling feet and the tapping of a crutch on the tile floor.  ‘Our least favourite brother is back.’

‘Frode!’ Espen exclaimed.

Frode jumped up and hurried towards them, followed by the dog. He nearly ripped the door off its hinges in his eagerness to see Espen back on his feet.

Espen’s smile split his face in half.

‘I’m so happy you’re here!’ he called. ‘I missed you so much!’

Frode’s mouth gaped, seeing how Espen held himself upright. He grabbed Espen’s shoulders just to be sure when the dog streaked past his legs. Espen looked hollow and emaciated, with deep circles underneath his eyes and week-old scruff on his jaws, but he walked. Frode pulled him close, and smoothed a hand across his hair.

Jens clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Hey, how are you?’

Espen took a step back and regarded Frode with his pale grey eyes.

‘I’m good,’ Frode said with even more conviction than the day before.

Jens tried to see into his soul for a moment, but seemed satisfied with what he saw.

‘I really need to sit,’ Espen interrupted them.

‘Hang on,’ Frode requested. ‘Hold still?’

Espen stabilised himself with the crutch, and remained where he was with an expectant look on his face. Frode grabbed his phone to take his picture.

_To: Rahim Alfarsi_

_Attachment: IMG_0549.jpg_

_I believe this would count as a miracle in your book_

‘What are you doing?’ Espen asked curiously.

‘I need to share this with someone. A co-worker,’ he explained when Espen kept looking at him.

_From: Rahim Alfarsi_

_This is wonderful news! God is great, and so is medical science, I suppose :p_

***

 

‘Espen, who’s he been texting all night?’ Jens tried. He nodded at Frode, who hunched over his phone with a shadow of a smile on his face.

Espen took a drink from his beer and shrugged. If Frode wasn’t ready to tell Jens, he wouldn’t rat him out.

‘We’re both here… Mum’s in bed at home… Who else does he know?’ Jens puzzled. ‘That co-worker?’

Espen feigned a confused expression and drained his glass. Frode ignored Jens entirely. Under the table, Jens nudged Espen with his foot.

‘Grab his phone,’ he mouthed.

‘No way. I’ve broken quite enough bones this year.’

Frode sent him an unreadable glance. Espen couldn’t quite figure out whether it was supposed to be gratitude or a warning. Jens sighed, and ambled over to the bar to order more drinks. Drops of condensation running down the beer glass Jens put down in front of him held Espen’s attention for a minute. He wasn't used to drinking anymore, and had lost count of how many beers he’d downed that evening trying to keep up with his brothers. A fog rose in his head as Jens asked after an incident that had nearly cost Frode his job.

‘I bet you really had to watch your back after that,’ Jens commented. ‘Did you even manage, when you had such trouble sleeping?’

‘Yes,’ Frode bit out. ‘Do you think I still would’ve had a job, otherwise?’

He snatched his buzzing phone from the table top and threw back his whiskey while he read. His frown faded, and he smiled while typing something in answer.

‘Are you back on diazepam?’ Jens fished.

Espen wondered what he was talking about. It sounded like drugs, or medication, but it might as well be a nutritional supplement. Frode and Jens never bothered to use layman terms in each other’s presence.

Frode didn’t answer.

‘There’s no way you’re not.’ Jens stared at Frode as if he could read his mind. ‘Otherwise you wouldn’t be in such a good mood.’

Frode laughed softly at something he read.

‘Or did you get laid?’

Frode raised an eyebrow at Jens. Espen hid his face in his glass.

Jens narrowed his eyes.

‘Both,’ he decided. He met Espen’s gaze. ‘And you know more about this.’

Espen anxiously held his tongue while Jens visibly considered where to put pressure to get an answer.

‘I wonder what mum would think about you using Kristin-’

‘Daniel,’ Frode said before Jens could finish his sentence. He held up his phone. ‘I’m talking to Daniel, alright?’

Espen almost expected a triumphant exclamation of sorts, but Jens contained his glee.

‘Right, you helped him with that thesis. How did that work out?’

‘Really well,’ Frode said proudly. ‘He worked very hard for it.’

‘Good for him.’ Jens’ eyes sparkled in the low light of the café. ‘And you decided to bend him over as a reward?’

Frode said nothing, so Jens turned to Espen. ‘Have you been up to anything good this week?

Espen considered it. ‘Inger came over for dinner and showed me her tits.’

Jens snorted into his glass. ‘Not bad. Is that a perk of being handicapped?’

Frode laughed aloud at the new message he received.

‘What?’

‘Daniel’s youngest sister is getting married, right, and it appears it’s going to be a rather religious and traditional affair… They’re trying to make him wear  _bunad_.’

‘Bet he absolutely loves that,’ Jens said with unholy delight.

The last half of Espen’s beer absolutely floored him. His chair seemed to wobble of its own accord, and when he tried to get up to go to the bathroom he missed grabbing the handle of his crutch twice. Once surrounded by white tiles he couldn’t recall how he’d gotten there. He felt incredibly warm, but the cold water he threw in his face after washing his hands didn’t really help. Mildly disoriented, he wove between people, tables and chairs, back to his brothers. The dim lamps above their heads seemed to set their fiery hair alight. Jens leaned in across the table.

‘… thought that Espen was sort of on the wrong side of the fence, but  _you_ … I never guessed you might be gay.’

‘I’m not gay,’ Frode said.

‘Bad news, bro. Sticking it to another dude is literally  _the_  qualifier.’ Jens giggled. ‘Faggot.’

‘It’s a spectrum, Jens,’ Espen said when he reached their table. He’d never thought they could have a conversation about this without him having to make it about himself. 

‘What is?’

‘Sexual orientation. Let’s say you’re on one end, being strictly into women. Someone else…’ His thoughts only gathered slowly. ‘Right. Daniel’s on the opposite end. If Frode’s usually into women, just not this instance, that doesn’t negate-’

‘Yeah, what do you even get up to with those escort girls?’ Jens crowed. ‘Do you do their hair and make-up? I always thought you were really bad at talking to women, but it explains a lot, knowing you’re just a huge fag!’

‘Bisexual,’ Espen muttered. ‘The word you’re looking-’

Frode grabbed Jens by the collar of his jumper and dragged him halfway across the table. Jens’ glass fell over, whiskey splashed against Espen’s boots.

‘That was the last time you called me that,’ Frode growled into Jens’ face. ‘Same goes for Daniel. Be warned.’

‘Faggot,’ Jens whispered.

Espen winced when Frode backhanded Jens across the face.

Jens struggled free, and overturned the table in Frode’s direction with a curse. Espen shuffled backwards until he felt a bar stool behind him. He entrenched himself at a safe distance to watch Frode scale the table and launch himself at Jens. Jens took off with Frode on his heels, both of them storming outside.

‘Apologies for my brothers,’ Espen sheepishly told the girls behind the bar after picking up the shards of glass and Frode’s phone, and righting the chairs. ‘Could you help me with the table? I just had back surgery.’

Since no one held him accountable for what happened, Espen grabbed his crutch and made his way out of the bar as well. On the other side of the street, Frode twisted Jens’ arm onto his back, forcing his head towards the pavement.

‘Hey! Stop that, you stupid cunts,’ Espen yelled, angry, but not lucid enough to think of something that would make an actual difference.

‘Piss off, Espen, I don’t want you getting hurt!’ Frode called. ‘This is between Jens and me!’

Jens cursed and wildly mowed his free arm around. Frode pushed his face onto the stones.

‘Espen, kick him in the knees,’ Jens panted. ‘Do you think you’ll ever see Daniel again now that Frode’s laid claim- Ow, goddamnit…!’

The ugly scraping sound of Jens’ face on the pavement nailed Espen to the ground.

‘Espen!’ Jens pleaded.

‘Don’t even think about it, Espen,’ Frode brought out.

Espen spun around and started on the way back home. ‘Finish each other off for all I care,’ he said between gritted teeth.

By the time he reached the unpaved road of their street, the exertion raised his core temperature too far. He took off his coat, and stumbled on. The white house came into view, ghostly in the light of the moon. He heard hurried footsteps coming up from behind. Jens overtook him. Espen didn’t ask where he’d left Frode. Dark blood welled up from an ugly scrape on Jens’ forehead. A drop ran down his eyebrow, into his eye. Jens blinked furiously.

‘Was it worth it?’ Espen asked.

‘You bet. This gives me enough ammunition against him for the next year.’

‘Why do you find it so strange?’

Jens held up his finger as if he had an entire exposition ready on the subject, but then frowned vaguely. ‘Ask me again in the morning. I’m too wasted to think now, but something definitely isn’t right here. Daniel… I’ll get back to you on that.’

Espen hauled himself up the stone steps to the front door, and stabbed his keys in the direction of the keyhole. Jens laughed when he paused his attempts to rest his head against the cool wood of the door.

‘You okay?’

Espen didn’t answer, but opened the door and stumbled into the bathroom just in time for his stomach to do a backflip. Jens came after him, and held his hair out of the way until he was done puking.

The sound of their father’s car approached; the beams from the headlights briefly illuminated the hallway. Hesitant footsteps sounded in the gravel.

‘Espen?’ Stein called through the open door. ‘Marit?’

‘Hey dad!’ Jens hailed him.

Espen wiped his mouth. ‘Hi!’

Stein’s eyes slid from Espen’s sweaty face to the blood on Jens’. ‘I see Frode came home.’

 

***

 

Steam wafted lazily from the coffee mugs on the kitchen table, but Espen couldn’t bring himself to sit upright on the bench and grab his. He’d awoken way too early because Daniel sang in the shower, and the incessant conversation on the other side of the wall and Jens’ snoring made it impossible to go back to sleep. Frode moved through the kitchen in a ridiculously serene way, making breakfast for everyone. The hangover that plagued Jens and Espen seemed not to bother him. A red scratch that narrowly missed his eye was the only sign that he had spent last night brawling with Jens outside a bar.

Jens shuffled into the kitchen in a threadbare bathrobe. Marit cast a disapproving glance at the gross scabs on his forehead.

‘I see you two have had a good talk,’ she sneered.

Jens plopped down on the bench next to Espen with a heavy sigh.

Espen averted his face. ‘Your breath smells like the grave.’

‘Not just your breath,’ Jens fired back.

‘Hey!’ Marit said sharply.

‘I had to teach Jens some manners,’ Frode replied.

Marit cleared her throat.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Me too,’ Jens said with reluctance. And a bit more sincerely: ‘I’m happy for you.’

It hadn’t escaped him either that Frode looked at Daniel as if he’d suddenly been presented with the answer to every existential question he’d ever had. 

Their mother gave a curt nod to signal they could carry on.

Jens groaned at the smell of the bread with salmon cuts Frode set in front of him.

‘We really shouldn’t do this too often if you’re going to live here,’ he complained, wrapping his threadbare bathrobe a little tighter.

‘No one was holding a gun to your head when you downed all that booze, as I recall,’ Frode commented.

‘Fair point. So, were you planning on moving to Lillehammer or just the general Oppland area? Maybe you should check out our neighbourhood.’

Frode shook his head at the thought of the sort of places Kristin and Jens preferred.

‘I’ll see about it this week.’ Frode sat down next to Daniel, wrapped an arm around him, and reverently pressed a kiss to his hair.

Frode, Jens and Espen ate in silence while their mother asked after Daniel’s plans post-graduation.

‘The PhD-program you were talking about earlier… is that the only thing you have in mind right now?’

‘There’s another one I wouldn’t mind applying for,’ Daniel said carefully. ‘But I’m going to have to move quickly if I want to take a shot at that.’

‘Just write a letter.’

‘I made an attempt, but I’m having a hard time selling myself.’

‘Tell it the way it is. I think anyone would be interested to employ someone with your work ethic and talent. Better get over your modesty. That’s easier than having to create and fund your own research.’

‘Yeah, that seems like an insane amount of work.’

‘I did that, actually, but that was more than thirty years ago… It probably got even more complicated over time.’

Daniel nodded.

‘I’ll look it over when you’ve written something, if that helps?’

‘That’d be swell,’ Daniel said.

The first chords of a piano sonata sounded from the living room. Marit left the kitchen in the direction of the sound.

‘What are you looking at?’ Daniel asked Jens as soon as the door closed behind her.

Jens wore an ear-splitting grin. ‘What’s that on your neck?’

Daniel pulled down the collar of his black button-down to bare a suspicious bruise.

‘You want to see the one on my arse, too?’ He pretended to undo his belt.

Jens stuffed his last piece of bread in his mouth with a laugh, and shot up.

‘I’m taking a shower. Need me today, Espen?’

‘No, I’ve got plans.’ The clock already indicated five minutes to twelve. ‘I’m off in a minute. Thanks for yesterday.’

‘Yeah, it was good to really talk for once, wasn’t it?’ Jens said pensively. He disappeared upstairs.

Espen ignored Frode and Daniel, drank his coffee, and waited for Arvid to pick him up. It wasn’t long before Stein greeted him at the door.

‘Morning, Stein, is the five-legged sheep up yet?’

‘In the kitchen,’ Stein said. ‘Did it work out with those recordings?’

‘I need some more studio time. You know if there’s any time slots open this week?’

‘I’ll ask.’

‘Thanks!’ Arvid entered the kitchen with a surprised expression. ‘Oi, Daniel, you ugly faggot! Fancy seeing you here!’

Espen cringed when Frode brought down the skillet he held with excess force, and crowded into Arvid’s space.

‘Mind your words, Nazi-scum,’ he bit out, inches from Arvid’s face.

‘Frode.’ Daniel took a sip of coffee. ‘He’s called me that for six years.’

‘Not in my presence,’ Frode said. He turned back to Arvid. ‘Understood?’

‘Whatever, dude.’ Arvid exchanged a glance with Espen, who shrugged apologetically. ‘Coming?’

Espen nodded, and got up with the help of his crutch.

‘Espen,’ Frode demanded, ‘where are you going?’

‘Friends.’ Espen picked up the bag containing his heavy archaeology book. ‘See you.’

Arvid took it from him, and offered his arm.

‘Isn’t he coming?’ Arvid asked when he helped Espen into his car. He jerked his head at the kitchen window.

‘He’s here for my brother,’ Espen explained. ‘They’re together now.’

‘Oh, was that what Marius was going on about Friday night?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I’d almost say I’m happy for Daniel, but I’m not thrilled. Your brother looks like he could snap him in half. Daniel always knows how to pick them.’

 


	16. Chapter 16

Espen followed Arvid inside at Inger and Jostein’s house.

‘That was fast,’ Jostein commented.

‘Espen’s big brother nearly ran us out of the house,’ Arvid said.

Shutting the door, Jostein sent Espen an inquisitive look.

‘Frode wasn’t all that happy to hear Arvid’s nickname for Daniel,’ Espen said, balancing on his crutch with his heavy bag in hand.

Jostein took his arm to support him. ‘‘Ugly faggot’ not allowed anymore?’

‘Daniel knows I don’t mean it,’ Arvid said from the living room. ‘Of course I got called a Nazi again. You’d almost think I’m wearing one of those arm bands.’

‘The combination of a bald head and camo pants is more than enough for my brother,’ Espen teased. ‘He suspected me of being a Nazi based on a Burzum shirt and a conversation about World War Two with an old lady. Ironically enough, I got that shirt from Daniel.’

Arvid flopped onto the couch, unpacked his guitar and tuned it by ear. Espen gingerly sat down next to him.

‘So, it’s pretty serious between Daniel and your brother, huh?’ Inger asked. ‘He couldn’t talk about anything else, lately. Glad they found each other.’

‘Jens seemed to think there was something terribly off about it last night,’ Espen suddenly remembered. ‘Shame I forgot to ask him what. And Marius said something similarly eschatological. Something about the end of times.’

Inger giggled. ‘Marius had a lot to say about it, didn’t he? Mostly details nobody needed to know.’

‘Don’t lie, you always want to know every gross little detail.’ Jostein rummaged between the brushes and pencils on his drawing table. ‘It was about time Daniel tried dating again. I don’t believe he ever entered another relationship after Pelle.’

Arvid played a series of scales, twisted one of his strings a little tighter, and waited for Inger to take her bass off the wall to jam.

‘Bring your stuff over, Espen.’ Jostein grabbed a sketchbook and pulled a second chair up to the drawing table underneath the window.

Espen opened his archaeology book on his lap, and leafed through the pages with photos of the stone of Stora Hammar and the stone of Tängelgårda in Götaland, Sweden. Jostein bent over the first stone, and followed Espen’s finger.  

‘Ah, Odin’s knot. Did you know there are multiple artistic renderings of the valknut…?’

Espen watched Jostein draw three different versions of the symbol, with the triangles gripping each other in different ways.

‘What I envision is a realistic rendering like in the picture, so that it looks as if it’s been carved in stone. A little weathered, and blending with your skin at the edges…’

On the other side of the room, Inger rolled a joint, which she shared with Arvid. The intoxicating smell slowly drifted towards Espen. Jostein added shading consisting of tiny dots to the last sketch. He effortlessly drew a band of runes around it. 

‘This style is more neo-Nordic, perhaps you’d prefer that?’

‘That is so awesome!’ Espen exclaimed. ‘I love the realistic version, too, though.’

‘Take your time to think about it. It’s your first, so we’re going to make sure it’s perfect, okay?’

Espen nodded enthusiastically.

Jostein rubbed his hands. ‘Lovely, a blank canvas.’

‘More like a scratching post,’ Espen said, thinking of his scars. ‘But my left arm is okay, I guess.’

‘You want it there? I’ll draw these two ideas up properly so you can choose.’

Arvid came to look over Espen’s shoulder.

‘What kind of Nazi symbol is this?’ he teased.

Espen let out an irritated sigh. ‘There’s no such thing as Nazi symbols. Only symbols _appropriated_ by the Nazis.’

Arvid paused to exhale smoke, and patted Espen’s shoulder. ‘I’m just messing with you.’

Espen took the joint from his hand and drew on it. He entertained himself the rest of the afternoon with leafing through Jostein’s portfolio. Jostein had an iron memory for the details surrounding every tattoo in there, and needed little prompting to talk about them. He didn’t quite recall the circumstances of every one of the tattoos covering him from collarbones to knuckles and ankles, but that didn’t stop Espen from asking after the ones that caught his interest.

Jostein got up to cook dinner when twilight fell.

‘Are you making that vegan crap again?’ Arvid asked. ‘If that’s the case, I’m going home to order a pizza.’

Espen shuffled to the other side of the room to take up the spot Arvid vacated. The back ache that had been plaguing him all day steadily increased from his bad posture sitting in a chair. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the back rest, but that wasn’t quite comfortable, either.

Inger pet his hair. ‘Are you in pain, sweetie?’

Espen nodded.

‘Here.’ Inger rolled another blunt and lit it for him. ‘Would it help if I gave you a backrub?’

Espen hung his head as Inger’s gentle hands rubbed the muscles on either side of his spine, enjoying the casual affection.

‘Take off your shirt.’

She pushed the hem of his T-shirt upwards. Espen automatically pulled the material back down to cover the big incision in his skin, criss-crossed by the smaller scars from the sutures.

‘Too cold?’ Inger asked.

Espen couldn’t put his reluctance into words, and withheld an answer. Inger’s question lingered between them until Jostein set bowls of spicy pumpkin soup and bread on the table.

Dinner passed by in relative silence, and Jostein returned to his drawing while Inger and Espen washed up. Espen blew soap bubbles into her hair when she wouldn’t hurry up drying, and though he knew somewhere that it was juvenile, Inger couldn’t seem to stop laughing either.

‘I’ve been thinking about the challenge you set me…’ Inger began with a mysterious smile. ‘I want to suggest an experiment that would answer my question in return…’

Espen felt his eyes widen involuntarily, and knew his burning curiosity must be written all over his face.

‘…but that’s not going to work if you refuse to take off your clothes.’

‘Inger,’ Jostein chided without looking up. ‘Don’t pressure that poor kid.’

‘It’s alright,’ Espen said quickly. ‘It was just… my scars. They’re not a pretty sight.’

‘Says who?’

‘Well, my brother used to get this look on his face whenever he saw them.’

Inger took his hand in hers, still clammy and warm from the dish water, and took him back to the dim living room, where Jostein had only lit the lamp above his table. She closed the curtains, and lit the thick black and red candles on a side table. ‘He can’t see them separately from the pain you went through. But I think it’s different for people who weren’t there. How do you view them yourself?’

‘They’re mostly a permanent reminder of what my stupid mistake cost other people - my brothers, my parents…’

Jostein looked up from his sketch. ‘Are you ashamed of that?’

‘Yeah,’ Espen realised. ‘The ugliness is secondary.’

‘It’d be quite something if we all got visible scars to remind us of our mistakes.’ Jostein laid down his pen and came to sit with Inger and Espen on the sofa.

Inger stroked Espen’s face with her hand. ‘I’m not saying I can fathom the circumstances of that accident, but… It says a lot that you recognise it as such. That your actions have consequences, I mean. Some people never learn.’

 

***

 

The light of his phone’s screen hurt Frode’s eyes in the dark. It was a quarter past four in the morning. Still no message back from Espen. Daniel drew a deep breath when Frode rolled over, and lightly rubbed his arm. Frode pulled him close and pushed his braid aside to kiss the back of his neck.

‘Can’t sleep?’ Daniel murmured.

‘Where would Espen be?’

‘Probably still at Inger and Jostein’s house. Wouldn’t be the first time he sleeps on their couch.’

‘He can’t sleep on a couch. His back-’

‘Don’t take it so literally,’ Daniel countered.

‘I should’ve picked him up.’

‘There’s no reason to worry.’ Daniel turned in Frode’s arms to meet his eyes. ‘It’s obvious you’ve got something against our friends, but do realise I won’t tolerate open hostility. I’m going to take whatever you say about them personally.’

Frode reached for Daniel’s face to caress him. ‘I’ll keep it in mind.’

Daniel grabbed his wrist. ‘One more thing. I don’t want you to drink or do drugs anymore, or we’re done. Can you do that for me?’

‘Of course,’ Frode promised without hesitation.

‘You were lucky I really wanted to leave my parents’ on Saturday, otherwise I wouldn’t have gone with you. I thought you’d understand you need to stay away from alcohol.’

‘It won’t happen again.’

‘Good,’ Daniel said. ‘You’re intimidating enough with your self-control intact.’

‘I thought you had a thing for that.’ Frode rolled Daniel on his back and kissed his angular shoulders and his flat pectoral muscles before resting his head and closing his eyes.

Daniel arched his back and playfully tugged on Frode’s hair. ‘Hey, don’t go to sleep now…’

The sky only just began to brighten when Daniel suddenly got out of bed and pushed the curtain aside.

‘There he is.’

Outside, a car honked. Daniel raised both middle fingers in greeting. The end of his long plait swayed against his naked backside with his abrupt movement. Frode stood up to look over his shoulder, and saw the car port of a station wagon slam shut behind Inger in a black dress suit. Espen stared after the car turning onto the road, and stiffly started up the sloping driveway towards the house with his backpack over one shoulder and a cardboard cylinder under his arm.

Daniel put on a robe and darted into the hallway when he heard the front door open, calling Espen’s name. Frode stepped into yesterday’s jeans and followed him downstairs.

Espen tossed his crutch in a corner with a gloomy, tired expression. His clothes reeked of pot, and his red-rimmed eyes and messy ponytail gave the impression he’d spent the night under a bridge. He clutched his bag and the cylinder a little tighter, and shuffled towards the stairs. 

Frode stopped him, and grabbed his chin to check his pupils. ‘Why didn’t you come home last night? Have you been using drugs?’

Espen tried to shake off his hand. ‘None of your business. Leave me alone.’

Daniel sent Frode a sideways glance. Frode allowed Daniel to push him out of the way.

‘You know what,’ Daniel said as he helped Espen up the stairs, ‘we’re glad you’re here now. Didn’t think to take your charger, did you?’

Espen shook his head.

Frode remained at the foot of the stairs to listen, but caught nothing more of the conversation than the muffled sound of Daniel’s voice. Daniel chatted while the shower ran, and Espen occasionally said something back. Frode put a note on the kitchen table so they’d know he was taking Spøkel for a walk.

Daniel only emerged from Espen’s room, still in the robe, after Frode got back. He snuck back into Jens’ old room with the cardboard cylinder in hand.

Frode looked up from his house hunt on the laptop. ‘What’s in there?’

‘A drawing. Espen said I could have it.’

‘I didn’t know Espen draws.’

‘He doesn’t. Give him a pencil and he’ll more than likely start drumming on something until it breaks.’

Daniel left the drawing with his bag when he grabbed his toiletries and disappeared into the bathroom. Giving in to his curiosity, Frode opened the cylinder. From it he fished a large, rolled up sheet of paper, which he spread against the wall. In a sketch that was vaguely reminiscent of Espen’s illustrated version of The Lord of the Rings, nonchalantly coloured with water colours, Espen lay sleeping – no,  _dead_  – in a cloud of his black hair. Gold ribbons shone in a myriad of small braids, and wounds marred his pale skin where Espen bore scars in reality. Blood ran down his lower back and thighs and stained the blue-silver banner he was lying on. Frode let the paper curl up. An oppressive feeling clamped like an iron band around his chest. He smoothed it out again, and briefly stared at it. For some strange reason, Espen appeared to have elf ears. There was a small signature in the bottom corner;  _JM 2014_.

‘You could’ve asked, mate.’ Daniel said around his toothbrush.

‘Sorry. On second thought, I wish I hadn’t seen this.’

‘Are you mad? This is a masterpiece. Espen makes a perfect Fingon,’ Daniel said with admiration. ‘I’m going to frame it.’

He delicately took the paper from Frode, and put it back in its protective casing.

‘What’s a Fingon?’

‘Never read the Silmarillion, have you?’ Daniel raised his hand to lovingly run it through Frode’s hair. ‘Gap in your knowledge.’

Frode turned back to the photos of the apartment he planned on viewing.

‘Why Lillehammer?’ Daniel asked. ‘There’s nothing here but sheep and ski trails. You should come live in Oslo.’

Frode wrapped his arms around Daniel’s shoulders and kissed his temple. ‘Want me to come over on Thursday evening, when you’re done with work?’

Daniel nodded, and took clean clothes from his bag.

‘Did Espen say anything to you?’ Frode asked.

‘No. But I’ll find out. He always tells me everything.’

 

***

 

Sleep didn’t really return after Daniel woke Espen to say goodbye. Espen listened to the sounds of his departure, and later those of Frode’s return. He felt cold; his bed was too empty in comparison to the previous night. The memory of soft thighs around his waist, of skilful hands that gently pulled his hair to bare his throat to kisses stopped him from getting up. He was brimming with conflicting emotions; tenderness, confusion, wonder and jealousy. He couldn’t figure out which to address to whom, and what their importance was. Espen pulled a pillow over his head as if he could hide from them, but the same thoughts kept swirling around, haunting him.

Frode tried his best, but sneaking wasn’t his forte. Espen heard the stairs creak under his weight, and the sound of his socks on the landing. The door handle squeaked unless you knew exactly how to apply pressure, and though Espen’s carpet muffled footsteps, Frode didn’t seem to be aware of his audible breathing.

Espen remained still, and weighed the pros and cons of pretending to be asleep. He didn’t feel like subjecting himself to Frode’s questions and the undoubtedly harsh judgement that would follow, but Frode knew Espen was a light sleeper, so there wasn’t much of a point to it. Frode halted in front of his bookshelves, and searched for something.

‘Need help finding anything?’ Espen asked.

‘The Silmarillion, is that Tolkien?’

‘Third shelf from above, on the left. A black paperback with a mosaic on the spine.’

Frode pulled the book from the shelf. ‘I thought it’d be thicker. Daniel was talking about some sort of Bible.’

‘He must’ve meant the narrative structure. Did he assign you homework?’

‘This is more like self-tuition,’ Frode answered absently while he glanced at the index.

‘Take it, it’s alright,’ Espen said.

Frode laid the book on the foot end of the bed and took the heap of Espen’s smelly clothes out of the room before returning to open Espen’s window.

‘Hey! I’m fucking freezing!’

‘Stein may let you do whatever you want, but when mum comes home tonight, do you think she’s going to let it slide if she notices you smoked pot?’

Frode bent to sniff Espen’s moist hair to make sure it wouldn’t betray him.

‘Aren’t you going to lecture me?’

Frode shot him a bland smile. ‘That’d be hypocritical.’

He threw back the covers, and Espen saw his eyes linger on the raised, purple scar on his thigh. The mattress dipped when Frode sat on the edge of his bed to view it up close. He rubbed his thumb across the scar, as if he wanted to make sure the wound had really closed, then rolled Espen onto his stomach.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I just want to see what it looks like now. We haven’t even really talked since I got back.’

‘Oh,’ Espen said, happy Frode’s overbearing attitude of that morning had dissipated. ‘Okay.’

‘How did rehab go? When I left, you could barely move your arm.’

‘Yeah, quite soon after they let me dick around in one of those wheelchairs that does wheelies and stuff, to work on my back and my core. I dunno if it was that, but that’s about when I started feeling my leg again. Mum said she’d seen my foot move before when I listened to music, but I hadn’t noticed at the time.’

Frode nodded, and kept listening.

‘It cost a lot of pain and effort to learn how to control it again; lots and lots of practice. At some point my broken leg could bear weight again, but before they allowed me to walk I had to do endless squats, and had to relearn how to get up from a chair and stuff.’

‘In my mind I was still stuck with the idea of how I left you. It came as such a shock when Daniel told me you walked again.’

‘I called you a million times!’ Espen said with mild reproach.

Frode scratched his beard. ‘Didn’t I tell you I don’t have my phone with me at work? They’re not allowed on the rig.’

‘Oh. Perhaps I forgot.’

Frode took the Silmarillion from the covers, and aimlessly leafed through the book. ‘Listen, what Jens said about you never getting to see Daniel-’

‘Daniel is perfectly capable of deciding who he wants to see and when.’

‘You’re right.’ Frode offered him a hand. ‘Get up. Let’s make some food. Then you can tell me about Morgoth, and what his beef with a guy named Fingon was.’

‘Morgoth was a super grumpy tabby. Daniel always picks the ugliest cats from the shelter and calls them… Or did you mean from the book?’ It suddenly hit Espen. ‘Did Daniel show you that drawing?’

Frode tossed him a hoodie and sweatpants. ‘I saw it, yeah… What on earth motivated you to pose for something like that?’

Espen shrugged defensively. Posing wasn’t the right word. He just collapsed on the bed and stayed there after the mind-blowing threesome he had with Jostein and Inger. The study Jostein made out of him while he recovered had helped him a little further in the acceptance of his changed body. He would never get his old form back, and would have to keep the limitations of his back in mind from now on, but the scars did not define him.

‘Why do you care?’

‘What do I care? Daniel wants to frame it.’

Espen couldn’t help himself; he laughed.

 


	17. Chapter 17

‘How did you like this last house we saw?’ Marit asked Frode. ‘More the sort of thing you’re looking for?’

He considered it while his mother took a delicate sip of her coffee. He didn’t really feel up to the refurbishment this apartment needed. Now that he made the decision to move away from Stavanger he didn’t want to wait any longer. He already ended the lease on his current place.

‘I did get a better impression. I don’t need that much space, though.’

‘But it’s not just you anymore. You have a boyfriend!’ His mother nudged him with her shoe under the table.

Frode lowered his eyes and laughed quietly. ‘It’s a bit early to started thinking about him moving in. Besides, Daniel wouldn’t want to leave Oslo.’

Marit pushed her cookie through the foam on her coffee. ‘Quite frankly, I’m thunderstruck that you’re in a relationship all of a sudden. How did it happen?’

Frode shrugged, trying to formulate a good answer. ‘It turned out we had a lot in common when we got talking every time he came around to see Espen. He’s been open about what he wanted from the beginning, and I sort of let him have his way eventually, because he… He’s everything I- He’s everything to me.’

His mother laughed out loud, then clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘That’s exactly how I ended up in a relationship with Stein. You take after your mother. Nothing wrong with it, though. Sometimes you just don’t know how much you need something until someone comes along and forces you to acknowledge it.’

‘Apparently,’ Frode agreed. ‘We talked a lot before I got back to work, and I only realised what that did to me once I had to miss out for an extended period of time.’

‘I’d never have made the connection, since I had no idea you were into boys, but I see he has a positive effect on you.’

Frode nodded. The fact that Daniel chose to be with him every day made him grateful for his existence again.

‘Was coming out hard for you? Out of the closet,’ Marit clarified when he gave her a blank stare.

‘No, you’ve got that all wrong.’

‘How do you mean? I thought perhaps you never talked about it before because of the culture over at the rig, or because you thought we’d take it the wrong way… Jens can be very opinionated.’

Frode shook his head. ‘This is the first time I’ve felt something for a guy. I guess never saw it as an option before, but I just see something in him. Something of myself, and something that complements me.’

‘And it would be a waste to dismiss it because you’re used to certain norms?’

‘Exactly,’ he said, relieved his mother understood him. ‘Exactly that.’

‘I’d feel terrible if you kept this a secret for years. I don’t want you to think that there are things you can’t discuss with me.’

Frode nodded politely, though his mind served up memories of a multitude of instances where he wished he could have talked to his mother about things that bothered him, but didn’t to spare her feelings.

Marit interrupted his thoughts. ‘There is another little thing I wanted to talk to you about. Jens told me something that kind of shocked me, since you never even mentioned it to me, especially… I  _am_  you mother, Frode.’

He froze, and forced his face into a neutral, questioning expression.

‘Are you having such trouble sleeping that you started using diazepam for it?’

‘Oh, that.’

Marit held his gaze with those same sharp, intelligent eyes Jens had inherited from her.

‘How come?’

‘I… I worried about Espen a lot, and that made it difficult…’

‘That’s in the past now,’ Marit said firmly. ‘Reduce your dosage and stop taking it as soon as it’s safe. I don’t need to tell you what garbage that stuff is, do I?’

He rose to pay for their lunch. ‘I’m already doing that. I plan to be off it by the time I go back to work.’

Marit looped her arm through his as they walked to the car. ‘How would Espen be doing, on his first day back at work?’

Early that morning, Frode had dropped Espen off at the hardware store he’d been working at for years. Espen looked forward to it, but being on his feet for an extended amount of time would undoubtedly be rough on him.

‘He’ll be sore tomorrow.’

 

***

 

Spøkel happily panted in Espen’s face, tongue lolling, while Frode drove his car up the mountain road. The dog’s heavy weight on his legs was kind of pushing his limits, but Spøkel loved looking through the windshield, so Espen kept his arms around her. There was one more place Frode wanted to check out before heading home to Stavanger with a detour via Oslo. Espen felt honoured that his brother asked him along. He gazed interestedly out one of the side windows, at the low house made of dark wood, half obscured by pine trees.

Fallen pine needles muted the sound of his crutch when he walked over to the cabin to peer through the dark windows. Frode didn’t even seem that interested in it. He looked out across the valley with the outstretched lake.

‘What do you think, Sheepie?’

Espen came to stand next to him. ‘I love the view.’

‘It’s not the North Sea, but it’s quite alright, isn’t it?’

Espen followed his gaze. ‘I don’t really see myself cycling up that mountain yet.’

‘Good. That way you won’t be up here eating my food all day.’

Espen smiled guiltily.

‘That last apartment I visited with mum last week was way too close to her house,’ Frode said. ‘If I want you in my hair all day I might as well take up permanent residence in Jens’ old room.’

Espen narrowed his eyes. ‘I have my own life, my own friends. Maybe you’ll be stalking me all day. A month of shore leave and no social life outside the family? That could get interesting.’

‘I’m fond of my privacy.’

‘I’m sure you are. I’d say that too if I were you.’

‘Do you really want to start this? Want to talk about the people you call friends? Nazi’s and paedophiles-’

‘Fuck you, Frode,’ Espen interrupted him angrily. ‘Shut up about my friends.’

‘I’m not done with this, and I want you to understand why. How would you feel if I fed a child your age drugs-’

‘A child? I’m turning twenty next month!’

Espen silently cursed Daniel for breaking his confidence for what seemed like the fifth time that week. However he tried to downplay his night with Inger and Jostein, his brother knew a way to make it sound problematic.

‘Yes, an impressionable child still living with his mum. I know what you’re like, Espen. Daniel also thinks-’

‘What does Daniel think?’

‘That you’re like a dog wagging its tail at burglars. You’re easy, and it makes you vulnerable.’

‘A dog? Easy and vulnerable?’ Espen repeated. ‘Tell you what. If I were to have kept a list of all the people who ever hurt me, Jostein, Inger and Arvid wouldn’t be on it.’

He avoided mentioning who would be on there, and who would be topping the chart.

‘Speaking of Daniel, I could tell you stories about him that would make your hair curl, but you know what? I won’t, because that’s not how I handle confidential information.’

‘That’s none of my concern. I just don’t want you to keep getting molested by-’

‘I don’t give a rat’s arse about what you want and don’t want. I’ll damn well sleep with anyone I please.’

Frode kept hanging on to the subject like a K-9. ‘So is that what you get up to every time you’re over there, now? With Ein-Volk-Ein-Reich as well?’

‘It was just the once, so no. But our music doesn’t fall from the sky, even if Arvid offers Daniel his parts on a silver platter.’

‘I’d rather you limit yourself to hanging out with Daniel and Marius. You’d do well to follow their example.’

‘Right, yeah, calling your friend a dog behind his back is really-’

‘Come on, stop pouting. Daniel and I have your best interests at heart.’

Espen crossed his arms and pursed his lips. ‘Normally I’d tell you to go eat a dick, but it looks like you’ve already got Daniel’s so far down your throat that that there’s no need.’

He dodged Frode’s swing, and gave him a warning smack with the end of his crutch.

‘Hey. We don’t hit children in the civilised world.’

‘Oh, now you’re a child all of a sudden,’ Frode growled. He grabbed Espen by the waist and tickled him until he fell against the car with helpless, hysterical laughter.

The arrival of the real estate agent was Espen’s salvation. Frode was at least considerate enough to pull him to his feet before shaking the man’s hand. Spøkel didn’t seem to understand why Espen put her in the car again. She sent him a pleading look when he followed Frode to the cabin. While the real estate agent dug up the keys, Frode picked loose hairs from Espen’s vest. Espen smacked his hand away, still cross about their earlier words. But because he depended on Frode to bring him back home, Espen wandered the empty spaces of the house, feeling torn, while Frode inspected the facilities and the structural integrity. The real estate agent fumbled for excuses to make up for the fact that the house was rather dim, but Espen was quite taken with the dark wood and the small windows; he’d feel at home in no time. Frode seemed fairly satisfied with his findings. He studied Espen’s face for a moment, then asked the real estate agent to place a bid on his behalf.

Outside, Frode ordered Espen to tie the laces of his combat boots as he retrieved Spøkel.

‘Let’s check out that trail.’

‘It’s raining,’ Espen protested.

‘I’m aware, Espen. What of it?’ Frode wrapped an arm around his shoulders and steered him up the path between the trees.

 

***

 

All-encompassing, primal fear wiped every thought from Frode’s mind. There was no time to reel in the excess rope. He was yanked off his feet before he could even brace against the bottom of the rock face when Espen slammed into the granite upside down.

Under the sudden pressure of their combined weight, the anchor shot out of the rock. Espen was in free fall.

Frode heard Jens gasp for breath. His own heart shot up in his throat and he flattened himself against the wall. There was nothing they could do to slow Espen’s impact.   

A loud thud, a rain of debris, a sharp cracking sound. After that the silence, nothing but the roaring of waves.

Powerless denial overwhelmed Frode for a moment. Time diluted as he took in the situation. The sound of Jens’ shoes across the rocks spurred Frode into action. His heart pumped so much adrenaline through his system that he could barely control his body. He had to focus, not think about the consequences yet.

Jens fell to his knees at Espen’s side. He tried to take Espen’s body into his arms.

 _Don’t touch him!_  Frode dragged Jens upright and shoved him aside. They couldn’t afford to move him if Espen was still alive.

Jens railed at him, demanded he do something. Frode bent over Espen to take in the damage. Blood oozed from scrapes and cuts, and bone protruded from a ragged wound in Espen’s thigh. Espen’s big, grey eyes stared unseeing up at the sky.

_Espen, look at me. Stay with me._

Espen did not look. Was he still breathing? Frode couldn’t feel his pulse.

Jens screamed and raged.  _You let this happen! You wanted this to happen!_

Sea water washed blood from the rocks. The tide pulled at Espen’s black braid, and slowly rose up to submerge him. The streams of the Norwegian Sea took Espen’s ghostly pale body away from them. Mangled limbs floated weightless on the dark current, and he sank…

_Espen, stay with me…_

Frode haunted the shoreline, stumbling across jagged boulders under a dark grey sky. He waded into the water, felt blindly under the troubled surface while waves broke against his chest, searching, searching. Where was his little brother? The sea was so immeasurably vast. How would he ever find him again?

‘Frode.’

Espen lay face down on the sand, between tangles of dried, black sea weed. His hair covered his face, and fanned out around him. The blade of the sword that skewered his spine and nailed him to the ground was dull with dried blood. How could he have done this? He was so full of regret. There was no way back. He could never go back.

Blood flowed freely when he dislodged the sword. A thin man in white came for Espen. Hands covered in strange symbols carried him away. Frode begged for Espen’s body in vain. 

‘Frode!’

Kneeling underneath the window, Frode pressed his face against Espen’s ribcage. The breath catching in his throat hindered the wail of grief at the sight of the disaster he wrought–

‘Calm down. Just breathe,’ a voice whispered. ‘Wake up, you’re freaking me out…’

Frode became aware of a heart pounding underneath the shirt stuck to his wet face. The body in his arms felt warm and hale, with thin but strong limbs. Lips found his in the dark. A soft mouth pressed kisses to his face. He couldn’t get enough air, or he breathed too deeply, he couldn’t tell. He kept uncontrollably gasping for it.

‘Let it go, it’s over. Calm down.’

Fingers combed through his hair, and slowly brought him back to his senses.

Espen lived. His bones were slowly healing and his skin had closed back up. Frode still had the rest of their lives to repay his debt. Perhaps he could let it go one day, but today was not that day.

A messy braid softly hit him in the face. His hand followed the curve of an unbroken spine. The T-shirt’s fabric soaked up the cold sweat from his skin.

His helpless grief slowly ebbed while reassuring words calmed his heart. The last thought he had before falling back asleep was that the gruesome painting of Espen’s injured body, the embodiment of his biggest fear, needed to burn. Daniel would have to get over it.

 

***

 

‘Bro, come have a look!’ Rahim beckoned Frode with an enthusiastic gesture from a chair by the window, where he was sitting with a laptop.

Behind him, night fell across the dark sea.

‘Give me a minute,’ Frode said, unwilling to abandon Daniel to their heated battle in World of Warcraft that was going downhill fast.

After taking their losses, he took off his headset and crossed the recreation room.

‘Look, this is my daughter,’ Rahim said proudly.

He was having a videoconference with his wife, who held their new-born baby in her arms. The child had the tiniest fingers Frode had ever seen, and a huge amount of dark hair. She peacefully slept through her parents’ conversation.

‘Hey Asman,’ Frode greeted. ‘Congratulations. What a beautiful baby.’

Asman waved in a tired fashion. ‘She certainly is, Frode. She’s adorable, we’re so happy she’s here.’

In the background, Rahim’s mother ironed a mound of baby clothes. She called something in Persian, which made Rahim and Asman laugh.

‘Salmeh did keep her grandmother up all night…’ Asman spun a colourful story about their attempts to deal with the baby’s various digestive issues.

After a while, Frode remembered his game with Daniel, and said his goodbyes. When he got back behind the computer his own fatigue caught up with him.

‘I’m going offline in a bit,’ Frode said over the headset.

He wanted to turn in early because of the broken nights that didn’t seem to let up now that he’d quit the diazepam again.

‘Talk to me a while longer,’ Daniel asked. ‘I want to hear your voice.’

Frode let out a quiet sigh. ‘I can’t stand to be without you this long. When I think about how far away you are, and how long it’ll be until I see you again…’

‘Shall I come to Stavanger next week?’

‘That’d be fantastic. Jens can give you a key.’

‘Excellent, I’ll go warm up your bed.’ Daniel laughed.

‘The things I’m going to do with you…’

‘You’ve got my attention.’

‘I guess I’m going to have to owe you them. It’s full of co-workers here.’ Frode closed the open programs on the computer. ‘I’m off to bed. See you, baby.’

‘Good night, sweetheart.’

Rahim appeared at Frode’s side.

‘How long are you going to keep claiming you don’t have a girlfriend?’ He asked. ‘That’s not how you talk to your mother.’

Frode shrugged, not knowing what to say.

‘Come on, man, I’ve been following your piss poor attempt for years. Well, as far as you open up about them. I think I deserve to know.’

‘Maybe you’re asking the wrong questions,’ Frode said.

If he was completely honest with himself, the only reason he had remained close-mouthed about his new relationship was Rahim’s religious allegiance. Rahim had never been one for extremist views, but Frode would regret losing their friendship over his private life.

Rahim reformulated his question. ‘Who were you talking to?’

‘That was Daniel. My boyfriend.’

‘You’re gay?’

From the edges of his vision, Frode saw the heads of co-workers throughout the recreation room swivel towards him. He wanted to explain that, technically, he was bi, but it sounded too damn apologist. ‘You got a problem with that?’

‘No… I just never would have guessed,’ Rahim said after a brief hesitation. He gestured to all of Frode. ‘I guess this is all overcompensation, then?’

Frode gave him a level look until Rahim stopped laughing, and waited to see where the conversation was headed.

‘Tell me something about him,’ Rahim prompted.

Frode glanced around at the guys listening in. ‘He’s a computer science student at the University of Oslo. He’s very gifted, and musical.’

‘Computer science, that’s cool,’ Rahim said, having studied that himself. ‘What does he look like, then? Show me a picture!’

Frode’s mind went to the stash of photos he had hidden between the pages of a copy of  _Chemical Engineering Science_  in his cabin, and he only narrowly avoided turning red. After the initial portrait he asked Daniel to sit for to test the settings on a new lens for his camera, Frode had quickly gotten a taste for capturing the effortless beauty of Daniel’s naked body. He much preferred the resulting blend of porn and fine arts photography over the skin rags the guys normally passed around on the rig, but he wasn’t about to share this.

He opened a browser to look up Daniel’s Facebook page. The wall showed a photo of Espen and Daniel astride a larger than life sculpture of scrap metal that was supposed to depict Odin’s eight-legged horse. Espen wore a Norwegian flag as a cape.

Rahim peered at the picture. ‘Aha. He’s like your little brother, but prettier.’

A few of the men Frode worked with directly crowded around the PC like a bunch of gossiping grandmothers over a wallet with family photos.

Frode closed the browser and shut down the computer under hoots of laughter.

‘Nice catch, Stedjeberg!’

‘Which one of you is the girl?’

He decided to take a leaf from Daniel’s book and give everyone the finger with a grin as he retreated from the room. ‘Neither of us. Which is probably why I got laid more than all of you combined in the last month.’

 


	18. Chapter 18

‘Are you ready, Espen?’ Jostein tugged on a pair of black latex gloves and arranged Espen’s arm over the back of a padded chair covered in cling wrap. ‘I know sitting still isn’t your strong suit.’

Espen glanced at the stencil of his tattoo on his upper arm. ‘You forget that I’ve been suffering for weeks without being able to move a muscle.’

‘Fair enough. Tell me when you get fed up. We can do this in two or three sessions.’

Espen watched Jostein dip his needle in the pigment. A nervous smile appeared on his face as the buzzing tattoo machine neared his upper arm. He suppressed a surprised yelp when the needle rapidly pierced his skin. The burning sensation spread across his arm fast.

Jostein worked on outlining the tattoo with quiet focus. The methodical scratching reminded Espen vaguely of the scrapes that Lofoten’s sharp rocks had given him. It didn’t feel half as bad as he anticipated, on the muscle. However, the underside of his arm went numb fast, with the weight of Jostein’s hands pressing it into the back rest. Espen thought the entire process was quite a cosy, intimate experience, their faces so close he could hear Jostein breathing and their knees knocking against each other. After a while Jostein said: ‘Didn’t you want to bring Daniel?’

‘No way, the less Daniel knows, the less risk I run of my brother catching wind of this. Those two are becoming more and more of a symbiotic unit. They’re always together now, and I’m not sure what I can trust Daniel with anymore.’

‘You don’t want Frode to know about this?’

‘He probably thinks it’s trashy. But this is important to me.’

‘That’s the only reason you need,’ Jostein said. ‘And don’t worry. Daniel will be back once the novelty wears off.’

‘We’ll see,’ Espen said with more indifference than his jealousy justified.

‘You know what I find odd?’ Jostein asked carefully. ‘I mean, they say love is blind and all that, but… what does your brother want with someone like Daniel? It’s not exactly a secret that he looks down on people who choose to look… different.’

Espen shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Frode’s way of viewing the world has always frustrated me. Ideally, physical attributes should be secondary, whether it’s something you find attractive or not.’

‘It’s probably hard not to internalise what other people do to you. Criticism of things you can’t change can be incredibly painful.’ Jostein subtly indicated his upper lip when Espen shot him a questioning look. ‘Like, everyone thought I was stupid because I chose to neglect my maths homework in favour of developing my drawing skills. The prejudice he’s had to deal with because of how he used to look and the way he speaks… Excelling in everything only helps when people don’t constantly dismiss you at first glance.’

Espen nodded pensively. ‘Daniel understands that.’

‘Yeah. I think Daniel wants nothing more than for his parents to look beyond and tell him they’re proud of what he’s accomplished despite everything.’

‘I guess that’s your answer, right there.’

Jostein cleaned away ink with a wipe that slowly turned black. ‘If you put it that way, it doesn’t even sound that crazy. It’s probably a whole new world for him.’

‘But yeah, Daniel told him about what we did, so…’ Espen felt the anger rising in his chest again, mentioning it.

Jostein laughed. ‘Shit. You don’t regret it, do you?’

‘No, not at all,’ Espen hurriedly said. ‘Whatever they say, no one can take that away from me.’

‘What  _did_  they say?’

‘They seem to think I let myself get molested under the influence of drugs. As if I have no judgement of my own.’

Jostein shook his head. ‘I’m disappointed in Daniel, to be honest.’

‘Me too,’ Espen admitted. ‘I kind of stopped talking to him. He’s so obsessed with Frode that he didn’t even notice.’

‘And since when is your brother that protective?’

‘No idea. Statistically, he’s always been the biggest threat to my wellbeing.’

‘Have you guys always had such a difficult relationship?’

Espen could only nod in confirmation. ‘I think he mostly found my existence… unnecessary. Our mother went on with her life after his father’s death, and I’m living proof of that.’

‘And your other brother?’

‘Jens is capricious. It mostly depended on where his head was at. Sometimes he’d put Frode up to leaving me behind in the forest, or to pretending I didn’t exist for days on end, and other times he’d literally fight Frode to protect me.’

‘Sounds like a rather unsafe way to grow up.’

‘It got better when Frode moved out.’

‘I think your brothers are a pair of jerks. Shall I adopt you?’

Jostein worked until the base of the whole tattoo was complete. He had been right about the increasing pain, especially when he began shading and colouring, but Espen managed to sit tight. Pain management had become his expertise. Evening fell around them.

‘That day in Lofoten,’ Jostein suddenly spoke, ‘what happened?’

Espen considered ways to put it into words. ‘I was exhausted from trying to keep up with them all week. It was a bit of an unfortunate series of events that I fell.’

‘You mean they didn’t take your stamina and skill level into account at all?’

‘Something like that. They weren’t super thrilled that I wanted to come along.’

Jostein’s mouth twisted in silent rage.

‘Then what is this?’ He gestured at the valknut he slowly etched into Espen’s arm, with pigments the colour of granite. ‘A warning?’

‘A memento.’

‘Of what?’

‘That they could have left me there.’

Jostein took his tattoo machine off Espen’s arm.

‘It was perfect. They could have gotten away with it, but they chose to-’ Espen swallowed with difficulty, tried to for a new sentence. ‘And I’m gratef-’

The buzzing of the tattoo machine stopped. Latex gloves fell to the floor. Inked arms circled him, and rocked him gently.

 

***

 

The smell of sweaty people in a confined space hit Espen in the face as soon as he opened the second door to the rehearsal room. The wall of sound coming at him made him fumble for his hearing protection. Curious how his friends were doing with the new material for the album, he snuck inside.

Inger was the first to spot him, and gave him a wink. He sat down on the rickety stool that belonged to the wooden piano in the corner, amidst Arvid’s guitar cases and amplifiers. Marius’ bony fingers created slow, haunting chords over the guitarists’ shredding, but he waved at Espen when his parts eased up. Goosebumps rose on Espen’s arms. The music filled him with a longing to play, to participate in any way possible. His feet automatically tapped along with the drum track that played on a laptop hooked up to Marius’ keyboard. Espen studied the material religiously at home, but he had yet to touch his drum kit.

‘You’re late, Stedjeberg,’ Arvid called over the fading chords. He nodded towards the drum kit opposite him. ‘Why don’t you make yourself useful?’

‘I can’t,’ Espen said, suddenly embarrassed. He got up, and turned towards the exit. ‘I haven’t even–’

‘Hey, wait, it’s alright. I’ve got an idea.’ Inger handed Espen her bass, and held her hand out for Daniel’s guitar. ‘Come on, it’ll be fun.’

Daniel picked up Arvid’s guitar. Arvid shook his head, laughing, and grabbed a set of drum sticks from his amp top. Jostein and Marius exchanged a glance.

‘I hope you’re not expecting me to sing,’ Marius said dismissively.

‘Wet blanket.’

Sitting behind the drum kit, Arvid tapped in their most technical new song with a grin. Espen watched Inger’s hands for the chord progression and imitated Arvid’s rhythm, which was all over the place. Inger and Daniel did fairly well, though Inger simplified the guitar parts and Daniel botched Arvid’s solo. Jostein barely managed to sing through his laughter.

‘It’s settled,’ Arvid said. ‘We’ll record the album like this. Sounds cult.’

Their collective fit of laughter was exactly what Espen needed to get over himself. He handed Inger back her bass and squeezed between Marius and Jostein to head for the drum kit. Jostein caught his wrist.

‘Hey, how are you doing today?’ he asked with concern in his eyes.

‘I’m okay. A little worried about how badly I’m going to fuck this up.’

‘Don’t be.’

Espen took his rightful place behind the drums with nerves tingling in his gut, scared to face the extent to which he had lost his skills. He unzipped his hoodie, kicked off his boots, and repositioned the bass pedals. It cost his brain a monumental effort to get all of his limbs in the right places at the right times. He was vaguely aware that he gasped for breath like a fish on dry land during the first song he played.

‘Are you alright, sweetheart?’ Inger asked when he had to physically force himself to let go of his pained expression.

‘I warned you it’d suck.’ Espen stood up on wobbly legs to stretch his back.

‘Give it some time. We have patience. Do you?’

‘Let’s play the one where Marius has that long intro so you can catch your breath,’ Arvid suggested. ‘What did we name that one again…?’

Espen pulled his shirt up over his head to wipe his face with it. It caught behind the gauze that covered his tattoo.

‘How’s your arm?’ Inger inquired. ‘I hope you didn’t let Jostein torture you too much?’

‘There was blood and pus all over my sheets this morning. Does that count as ‘too much’?’

Espen’s mother caught him stuffing his bedding in the laundry machine that morning, but she hadn’t said anything. She thought she knew enough with three sons. He did hope the blood would wash out, otherwise he’d still have some explaining to do.

‘Ready, Marius?’ Arvid directed everyone’s attention back to the music.

Frowning in concentration, Marius began his intro. After a couple of bars, Daniel thoughtlessly stepped on one of his pedals. The wrong chord he’d struck rang out over the monitors, loud and dissonant, and kind of hilarious. Inger bent double, wheezing with laughter.

‘Amateurs.’ Arvid sighed loudly. ‘Again.’

Espen began to enjoy himself when he got back in the rhythm. The muscles of his core an upper legs burned during the parts with double bass, but it was cathartic to vent some of his frustration by forcefully hitting things.

Sweat slowly cooled on his torso as he watched the others put away their instruments fifteen minutes later.

Daniel walked up to him, his only guitar packed away, and left Arvid to deal with all his gear alone. He nodded to Espen’s upper arm. ‘Why didn’t I know about that, mate? Can I see?’

‘No,’ Espen said, more testily than he intended. ‘It’s not done yet. And please don’t tell Frode before that time. I’d like to live to see the end result.’ 

‘What? No, of course I won’t. Why would you even think that?’

Espen raised an eyebrow at Daniel, who averted his gaze with a torn expression.

‘Can we talk some time? Privately?’ Daniel glanced around at the rest of the band, who paid them no notice.

Espen wanted to make a snide comment about privacy and trust, but there was something in Daniel’s eyes that reminded him of a nightly conversation that seemed ages ago now, and of a promise he’d made.

‘You know where to find me. About what?’

In the chaos of a new group of musicians entering the room and Carchost trying to clear their gear from it, Daniel avoided answering.

 

***

 

Espen shook the rain from his coat and shoved his headphones down around his neck when he entered the tattoo shop. Voices drew his attention as he worked a strand of hair out of the muffs.

In a far corner of the shop, Jostein held Daniel’s lower lip in one gloved hand and a pair of tongs in the other. ‘So what does cryptographic mean?’

‘Tell you in a sec,’ Daniel spoke with difficulty.

Espen turned his music back on, quietly enough to follow bits of the conversation, and sat down in the waiting area without saying anything. Now that Frode was back at sea again, he hadn’t counted on running into Daniel here. He didn’t feel like looking at Daniel’s smug face today.

Jostein pushed a sterile needle through a spot he had marked earlier. Daniel didn’t give a peep, though a trickle of blood seeped from the puncture.

‘Brutal.’ Jostein told Daniel. ‘I didn’t know you were a bleeder. Do you want to get the next one over with?’

‘Sure, go ahead,’ Daniel said. ‘I’m going to develop algorithms for data encrypting, by the way. Not my first choice, but I’m going to learn a ton.’

‘Whatever floats your boat.’ Jostein pierced the other side of Daniel’s lower lip, and wiped the blood away. ‘There. A snakebite for mister Asklund, Master of Science and PhD-candidate extraordinaire. Come take a look. You happy with it?’ He held up a mirror.

Daniel nodded. ‘Thanks.’

It was quite unfair how the piercings elevated Daniel’s face to a whole new level, Espen thought. The steel caging his lower lip did nothing to fetter his fragile beauty. It merely emphasised the delicate curve of his mouth.

Daniel caught him looking. Espen raised his hand in lukewarm greeting, and remained where he was. Daniel announced Espen’s presence to Jostein, who was cleaning up the packaging of his sterile tools, and approached.  

‘You don’t look particularly happy to see me.’ Daniel drilled his eyes into Espen’s in a way that made him forget how to breathe for a moment. ‘Hey… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told him.’

He took a seat next to Espen, and looked at him from under his eyelashes.

‘Stop it,’ Espen muttered. ‘I can’t stay angry like this.’

‘You’re not angry with Frode, are you?’

‘Forget Frode. I thought you were different.’

‘I’m more like you than you think, just older. It offers perspective. Don’t think I look down on you.’ Daniel wrapped an arm around him and smoothed a hand across Espen’s hair.

Espen grudgingly allowed himself to be mollified.

Daniel sat with them unasked while Jostein worked on Espen’s arm. The conversation he offered went a long way towards distracting Espen from the increasing pain of the tattooing.

Espen took a relieved breath when Jostein finally cleaned his abused skin and led him to a tall mirror. The valknut appeared on his upper arm in detailed realism; a stone-carved seal that seemed to have withstood the ages. A band of runes surrounded it, with reddish shading blending the cracks in the stone with his skin.

‘What do you think?’ Jostein asked.

Espen rolled his shoulder and studied it intently. ‘You really did make it perfect. You’re a genius.’

‘I’m glad I could live up to my promise.’

Jostein wrapped Espen’s arm, and announced it was time for them to shove off, because his next client was on her way. They hurried through the pouring rain to Daniel’s parents’ house.

Daniel’s youngest sister let them in. Reidun was a gorgeous girl, a classic beauty with a porcelain face and dark blond hair down to her hips; a younger, female version of Daniel. She was Espen’s age, had been in his class in  _ungdomsskole_ _._ If she hadn’t been such an incredible bible-thumper, Espen would definitely have asked her out some time.

It began as soon as she laid eyes on the snake bite in Daniel’s swollen lower lip.

‘Oh Daniel, what have you done to yourself now?’

Daniel smiled and took her in his arms. ‘Good to see you, too, sis.’

‘I can’t bear to see you slip away from us again,’ she fussed while she made coffee and Daniel and Espen dried their hair and faces. ‘First you’re in a relationship with a man again, now this. Why don’t you repent? It’s not too late to reconcile yourself with God-’

‘Reidun, please shut up,’ Daniel said. He let out a dramatic sigh. ‘Fill that empty head of yours with something else than sermons. First of all, God can bloody well apologise to me because his followers want me dead, not the other way around, and secondly, my boyfriend isn’t into this either, but, like ‘the Lord’, he needs to accept me for who I am.’

‘I’ll thank you not to blaspheme in this house!’

Daniel took unholy pleasure in inviting his sister to his graduation ceremony, and telling her about his new job as PhD researcher at the University of Oslo, where he would start working in January.

‘Now that you’re a bit better informed about how irrevocably lost I am…’ He walked towards the stairs. ‘Espen and I have some things to discuss, so… do not disturb, and all that.’

Seated opposite each other on the bunk bed of the family’s younger foster children, who were out with Daniel’s parents, Espen met a serious gaze.

‘Listen… I’m afraid your brother isn’t doing too well.’

‘He’s not?’ Espen asked, surprised. ‘I thought he was doing better than ever …’

Daniel ran a hand through his hair and seemed to consider what he could divulge. ‘In some areas, perhaps. But as I said before, the accident… He isn’t getting past it.’

‘Jens went into therapy for it, I believe.

‘At least Jens lets himself be treated.’

‘Probably only because Kristin gave him an ultimatum. They’re both proud and stubborn.’

‘I’m afraid I’ve already used up my ultimatum.’ Daniel let out a bitter laugh.

‘For what?’ Espen asked.

‘I don’t want to talk about that.’

‘That’s alright. What are you most worried about?’

‘Before he went back to Stavanger-’ Daniel’s throat closed on his words. ‘How much it still preoccupies him. He relives the accident in his dreams. Scares me half to death every time he’s in hysterics in the middle of the night.’

‘What can I do?’

‘I dunno. I just needed to vent.’

Espen nodded. ‘See how it goes when he comes back home. I’ll keep an eye on him when he’s around. He’ll be alright. Frode’s strong.’

Daniel said nothing. He didn’t need to. Espen involuntarily thought about Oskar.

 


	19. Chapter 19

Footsteps neared, echoing through the hall. Finally, news about Espen. He’d been sitting here so long, filthy and exhausted, head in hands, outside the doors of the OR-complex. Frode looked up to see who approached him. The white coat the surgeon wore over his scrubs did not completely hide the bloodstains. Blood even tinged the long ends of his wispy, white-blond hair.

The surgeon gestured for him to follow. His silence could only mean bad news.

Suddenly alone in a harshly lit room, he realised Espen hadn’t made it. Frode couldn’t grasp how that could have happened. He’d seen his little brother mere hours ago. He promised to watch over him. He had, hadn’t he? What had gone wrong? This couldn’t be the end, this was impossible. He had to go back, back in time, to prevent this. Back to before the accident, but how far? Where could he begin to set this right? Espen’s death seemed an unavoidable culmination of all the time they’d ever spent together.

Since the surgeon had disappeared, Frode wandered through the hospital in search of a way to turn back time. The realisation came but slowly - he was powerless with all his knowledge; he possessed no skills to engineer fate. He gave up on his hopeless search with a horrible sinking feeling and searched for Espen’s body. Where had they left him? Where was his little lamb? He had to see him one more time, run his hand through those white curls in goodbye. Why couldn’t he find his brother?

Running through the endless labyrinth of sterile white hallways he called Espen’s name, knowing full well he’d never receive an answer. He passed an infinite number of empty rooms, and people without faces gave no answer to his questions. The directions on the signs overhead made no sense.

Why couldn’t anyone help him? Was there no one who knew where Espen was?

‘Espen!’

The sound of his own voice woke Frode with a start. He pushed himself upright, shaking, and slung his legs over the edge of the bed. Manoeuvring between packed moving boxes, he stumbled to his bedroom window and opened it. The cold wind dried the sweat on his torso. Daniel sat watching him from the bed, knees drawn up to his chest.

‘Frode,’ he said quietly as not to wake Jens, who slept in the living room. ‘Come back to bed.’

Frode closed the window and lay back down next to him. The sheets felt clammy, and Daniel’s hand on his chest drew attention to his pounding heart.

‘What were you dreaming about?’

‘The hospital,’ he spoke with difficulty. ‘Espen was dead and there was blood everywhere. There was a surgeon– Jostein, it was that goddamned Jostein– and I couldn’t find him anywhere–’

‘Jostein?’ Daniel repeated. ‘Perhaps we really do need to ritually burn that drawing.’

‘It’s already in my head.’

‘When are you going to do something about this? You’re only getting worse. You know what this looks like?’

‘Sorry I woke you.’

‘Go talk to your doctor. You don’t need to live like this.’

‘Fine,’ Frode said to reassure him.

‘Promise me.’ Daniel laid his head on Frode’s chest.

‘I promise.’ Frode took Daniel’s heavy plait, and adjusted it to follow the curve of his spine.

Going back to sleep was damn near impossible for Frode that night. He couldn’t seem to banish the thought of how fed up Daniel must be with this situation. The hour before dawn where he managed to drift away did more harm than good in regenerating some energy. He resolved to catch up on sleep on the drive to Lillehammer after sending his stuff off with the moving company, but that didn’t work out the way he imagined. Daniel, who wasn’t used to physical labour and had a bad night as well, lay slumbering in the back seat for most of the way, headphones on, and didn’t offer to drive. Jens kept talking all the while he was behind the wheel, depriving Frode of the opportunity to close his eyes.

‘How are things with you and Daniel? Alright?’ The sceptical face Jens pulled made Frode hesitate.

‘Yeah, we’re fine, why? Do you still have trouble wrapping your head around it?’

‘Yes, but not for the reason you think.’ Jens glanced over his shoulder to satisfy himself that Daniel was still snoring softly against the window.

‘What am I thinking?’ Frode asked aloud.

‘That I’ve got a problem with you being gay.’

‘Jens, I’ve never looked at another man in my life. I just like Daniel for who he is.’

‘And that is exactly what I mean. Why Daniel?’

‘Your tone of voice suggests you have a hypothesis,’ Frode said. ‘Out with it, then.’

Jens took a deep breath. ‘Because he reminds you of someone. When you pull down those camo pants, isn’t it exactly like you’re undressing your little brother?’

Frode felt his mouth gape in horror.

‘So, basically, you’re fucking Espen. I mean, look at the clothes, the hair–’

Internally seething, Frode forcibly reminded himself he had teased Jens too when first got a girlfriend. ‘Shut up, Jens. They’re as different as day and night. Espen is a silly child and Daniel is a brilliant academic-’

‘Daniel is literally Espen a couple of years from now.’

‘- and besides, I actually had to undress Espen for a month because you were too busy whinging about your problems to a stranger to help out your family. Let me tell you, there is no correlation between taking care of Espen and my relationship with Daniel.’

‘How can you know for sure?’ Jens asked slyly. ‘You were wasted the entire month.’

Frode refrained from answering until his aggression had peaked.

‘Perhaps it’s time you upgraded that therapy to a closed psych ward, Jens, because this is completely mental.’

‘That’s an ad-hominem argument.’

‘Then what exactly do you want me to address?

‘That nearly losing Espen affected you, too. That when he was lying there all bloodied up and screaming-’

‘Of course that affected me! But that doesn’t mean my relationship has to be some sort of pseudo-incest!’

‘That’s not what I’m saying!’

‘It is, you ugly serpent. Listen to yourself talk!’

‘I didn’t mean it like that! I–’ Jens ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. ‘Look at it this way. You’re being eaten alive by guilt over that accident, and you take care of him day and night for weeks. In the mean time you have no time for yourself. You see how helpless he’s become every day, and it’s your fault. He needs you in everything, and by the time you get back to work you haven’t had time to process any of it. You’re worried sick while you’re away, and you miss him so much that you can’t even function at work-’

‘Yeah, I was there, Jens. Thanks for the recap.’

‘Right, but then you come back, and Espen’s moving on and doing much better. He doesn’t need you that way anymore, but there’s someone who can fill the void, someone who even looks like him…’

‘Jens, for fuck’s sake. Stop talking.’

Frode tried to put Jens’ mad ramblings from his mind in the silence that fell. His relationship with Daniel had developed independently from his caretaking, hadn’t it? They’d bonded through meaningful conversations, shared interests and natural compatibility. Hadn’t they?

Jens glanced back at Daniel again, and laughed to himself.

‘Doesn’t snogging him feel weird?’

‘It will now, and guess whose fault that is?’

‘No, I mean with all that shrapnel in his face. That’ll go nicely with his future career weeding municipal gardens.’

Frode couldn’t help but laugh, because that was word for word what he’d told Daniel when he came back from the rig and saw what he’d done. Daniel had darkly muttered that Frode could go eat a dick, and waved a job contract in his face.

‘He’s starting his PhD in January.’

‘You’re serious!’ Jens exclaimed. He twisted in his seat and prodded Daniel. ‘Hey, good job, man!’

Daniel opened one eye and nodded tiredly. He adjusted his headphones and sagged against the window again.

‘Right, but does it at least feel better now when he…?’ Jens made an obscene gesture.

‘Did you want to continue to Lillehammer on foot? Because I’m _this_ close to shoving you out of the car and leaving you behind.’

Jens kept his mouth shut about Espen and Daniel for the duration of the drive, but the look on his face gave Frode an ominous feeling that he couldn’t shake.

Lights illuminated his new house when they arrived with night falling over the mountains around them. Espen opened the door before Frode could get his key into the lock. Frode evaded Espen’s attempt to hug him by sidestepping and ruffling his hair instead. Espen then hugged Jens, exclaiming how happy he was to see them. He disappeared in the direction of the car, presumably to greet Daniel.

There was food on the stove in the kitchen. Jens hungrily lifted the lids of the pans to inspect the contents.

‘Oi, Frode,’ he began with suppressed glee, ‘remember when Espen was five and had this phase where he said he was in love with his kindergarten teacher, then the girl next door, and then you?’

Frode did vaguely recall that somewhere around his sixteenth birthday, he’d been saddled with a highly embarrassing pre-schooler who tended to announce that fact to anyone who stood still long enough. He shrugged. That was just something children did. ‘What about it?’

‘I didn’t think I’d ever see that sentiment reciprocated, except this time around it’s so much more gross,’ Jens said through his barely contained laughter.

Frode turned to him.

‘Jens. I’ve had a terribly shit night, I’m stressed to the max, and I’m reaching the end of my patience. If you don’t want this night to end in murder you better stop it right now.’

‘What are you going to do? Push me down a mountain as well?’ Jens clapped his hand across his mouth as if he tried to push back the words that came out. ‘Sorry. Sorry. I’ll stop.’

A dark shadow appeared in the doorway when Frode searched the kitchen cabinets for something to serve the food on.

‘Did you bring plates, by any chance, Sheepie?’ he asked.

It was only when Jens began laughing that Frode realised his error.

 

***

 

‘You look tired.’ Espen took a dripping plate from Daniel and dried it.

‘It was one of those nights. Again. He promised me to see the GP about it. Perhaps that’ll help.’ Daniel bit his lip.

‘Who knows.’ Espen placed the plate atop the stack on the counter. ‘What did he say about your snakebite?’

‘As predicted: some stupid remark about it being trashy.’

‘I don’t get him. It looks so good on you.’

‘Did you show anyone yet?’ Daniel nodded to the tattoo hidden underneath the sleeve of Espen’s button down.

Espen shook his head. He didn’t feel the need to share it with the world; it was something he did for himself, and didn’t care for whatever criticism people might have. 

‘How does it look now that it’s healed?’

‘Even better, check it out…’

Espen undid the top buttons of his shirt, and pushed it down his shoulder. Daniel rucked up the sleeve of the T-shirt he wore underneath. The shadows surrounding the relief in the stone gave an almost three-dimensional effect. Each rune looked as if it were carved into his skin.

‘What does it represent?’ Daniel asked.

‘It’s the sign of the fallen warriors,’ Espen said evasively. ‘Fallen. Get it?’

‘Is it supposed to look like an abstract mountain range?’

Espen gave it another good look, surprised that it fit so well.

‘That wasn’t a conscious thing. But I did have Jostein do–’

Frode entered the kitchen through the open doorway. Espen scrambled to right his shirts, heart pounding in his throat under Frode’s suspicious gaze.

‘What did you have Jostein do, Espen?’ Frode’s eyes slid from Daniel’s expressionless face back to Espen’s arm. He suspected.

Espen straightened his back and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. ‘It’s none of your business.’

‘Damn it, Espen, don’t play games with me. What did you do? Show me.’

‘No.’

A minute shift changed Frode’s body language from intimidating to threatening. ‘Take off your shirt.’

Espen averted his face, rooted to the floor like a lamb before the slaughter, suddenly afraid for his vulnerable body. In this state, there was no way he’d be able to withstand the brute force Frode tended to use to get his way.

Frode grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him closer. Espen briefly shut his eyes, and didn’t struggle. A button popped from his shirt as Frode roughly bared his shoulder. Frode ran his fingers across the tattooed muscle in disbelief. Espen cringed under his touch.

‘What on earth were you thinking, doing something like this?’ Frode bit out, far too close and disproportionally angry.

Espen pulled his arm from Frode’s grasp to close his shirt back up with shaking fingers. ‘I don’t owe you an explanation. I’m an adult, it’s my body. It’s in a spot where no one ever needs to see–’

‘For fuck’s sake, Espen, you’re nineteen! You’re everything _but_ an adult, and you doing this behind everyone’s back is proof of that! You know why you want to hide it? Because you know it’s wrong!’

Espen scoffed. ‘Wrong?’

‘You’ve marked yourself for life, and with what? A goddamned Nazi symbol!’

Espen furiously yelled back: ‘It’s not a Nazi symbol!’

‘What do you think mum is going to say when she sees this? Do you think she’ll be happy that you’re willing to risk everything she’s worked so hard to give you? You really don’t give a shit about anything except attention-whoring with your outrageous appearance, do you? Letting your friends pass you around, letting them mark you up with this fascist crap. Great job, Espen, now the whole world can see you’re a Nazi whore!’

Espen pressed his lips together to stop the lower from trembling, disheartened and utterly humiliated. ‘Is that really how you see me?’

Frode’s gaze flicked to where Daniel leaned against the sink, watching the exchange with crossed arms, and opened his mouth.

Espen did not want to hear what he had to say anymore. He took a deep breath to regain a measure of control over his pounding heart. ‘I guess we both accomplished our goals tonight. I’m officially a Nazi whore, and you finally managed to get rid of me for good. I already thought it was odd you didn’t just let things take their natural course in Lofoten. Was that a missed opportunity, in hindsight, or were you afraid to get actual blood on your hands?’

Espen turned his back on Frode and pushed past Jens to exit the house without waiting for an answer.

 

***

 

Jens made a break for the door as soon as Frode met his eyes, and ran after Espen. He left the door ajar behind him. A car started. Neither of them returned.

Frode made his way into the hallway, shaken by the magnitude of his own outburst. When he heard Daniel’s footsteps halt behind him, he turned around.

Daniel hit him hard in the face. ‘That’s my best friend you’re talking about, you utter psychopath!’

Frode kept silent, and held the door open so Daniel could leave as well, wondering if the glacial lakes of Jotunheimen contained enough water to extinguish his burning shame. Daniel grabbed a handful of his hair and painfully pulled his head down.

‘Close the door, I’m not through with you.’ He let go and gave Frode a shove so he could obey. As soon as the door quietly clicked shut, he raised his voice again. ‘Who the fuck do you think you are? What gives you the right to judge?’

Frode said nothing, at a complete loss for words.

Daniel bent to pick up one of his combat boots, and threw it at Frode’s head with a shout of rage. ‘Answer me!’

Frode dodged the projectile. It banged against the wall behind him. Jens’ bizarre accusations came back to the forefront of his thoughts. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking…’

‘You know damn well, Frode, I can tell from your ugly, deceitful face!’

‘It’s goddamn unspeakable, Daniel!’

Daniel subconsciously took a step back when Frode raised his voice. He closed his mouth, and looked away as if he remembered something. ‘Nothing is unspeakable. Anything can be put into words, and you owe me an explanation - if only because you’re saddling me with a huge loyalty conflict.’

‘Believe me, you don’t want to hear this.’ How could he look Daniel in the eye and tell him their relationship had no meaning except for venting his misplaced affection?

‘Unless it really was attempted murder?’

Frode shook his head.

Daniel sought his gaze with those compelling eyes of his, and took Frode’s hand. ‘You know you can trust me with anything, right?’

Frode gave a hesitant nod.

‘Tell me. Then I’ll tell you the story about the boy who did actually let himself be drugged and abused in his longing for positive attention. So you’ll know the difference for future reference.’

Frode picked up Daniel’s boot, put it back on the rack and considered the proposition. He went through the motions of making coffee to give himself time to think, and to avoid looking at Daniel. ‘Earlier today, Jens said he has some doubts about our relationship.’

‘Right.’

‘Because of Espen. Jens thinks I’m with you is because you remind me of him.’

Daniel’s eyes widened. He cast a searching look around while he came to his own conclusions about the nights when Frode found comfort in his arms after the nightmares about his brother. Frode watched in dismay how horror slid across his delicate features.

Daniel opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. ‘And what do you think?’

‘That it isn’t like that. I love you for wildly different reasons than I love Espen for.’

Daniel studied him with a fragile expression. ‘Do you mean that? That you love me?’

‘Yes,’ Frode said without hesitation. Daniel deserved to hear it, if this was to be their last conversation. ‘Not everything is about him. I love you, I really do.’

Daniel wound his arms around Frode’s waist and laid his head against his collarbone. Frode kissed his hair and held him tightly, sick with the thought of nearly alienating him as well. When Daniel stood on his toes to kiss him, Frode was suddenly grateful for those ugly piercings, for the cold surgical steel against his lips. They created an important distinction.  

‘You had better fix this,’ Daniel muttered.

Frode ran a hand through Daniel’s hair, wound some around his index finger, and let go. The weight of the long, thick strand pulled out the coil immediately. ‘I have no idea where to begin - what’s left to say…’

‘This can’t be fixed with words. You’ve got to find a way to give Espen hope that things will change for the better.’

‘You know, since the accident I’ve constantly been trying to reshape our relationship, but there’s so much bad blood between us.’

‘Maybe it felt safer to reconstruct your relationship through me first, without a past. Because let’s be real, you would never even have considered dating me, otherwise.’

‘Perhaps not,’ Frode admitted. He carefully pulled away. ‘I need to talk to him.’

Daniel stopped him with a hand on his chest. ‘Do you think he’s waiting for you to come bother him with your flawed self-realisations right now? You’d better give some proper thought to whatever it is you really feel for him, and what the point to all of this is.’

‘Daniel…’

‘Forget it, Frode. You fucked up, and it has consequences.’

‘Then what am I supposed to do?’

‘You’re just going to have to think about what you’ve done.’

He did. Holding Daniel in his arms barely warded off the gaping black hole Espen had left, he thought about it the entire miserable night.

 


	20. Chapter 20

Espen felt Jens’ gaze pricking the back of his neck from where he sat at his desk, staring at a random book. He wished Jens would leave him alone. It had been difficult enough to contain his grief while explaining the situation to their parents, and he’d be damned before he cried in front of Jens. But one of his treacherous eyes was about to overflow.

From the open door of the bedroom on the other side of the hall, the heated voices of their parents could be heard.

‘Is that what’s important right now?’ Stein asked Marit in a forced-reasonable tone. ‘Didn’t you hear what Frode said to Espen?’

‘Do you think it’s acceptable Espen went and got tattooed without so much as mentioning it to us?’ Marit demanded. ‘He’s completely out of control. Look at him! Everyone already stared when I went out with him before, imagine how it’s…’

‘Espen,’ Jens said hoarsely. ‘It’s my fault Frode had a go at you. He was angry with me.’

‘Whatever.’

‘You don’t really think we considered letting you die for one second, do you?’

Espen shrugged. ‘I don’t know where I stand with you guys.’

‘This is permanent, Stein!’ Marit shouted. ‘Espen thinks this is normal because you’re a pushover when it comes to him. What kind of message are you sending Jens and Frode if you don’t ever call him out on his behaviour? No wonder Frode feels the need to step in, if you neglect to properly raise your son.’

‘I’m sorry, are you trying to tell me that I’m the one neglecting to raise our sons? You’re rarely around, and when you are, you’re still working! And it’s never been any other way. Even twenty years ago I spent more time looking after two emotionally neglected, damaged preteens than the baby I stayed at home for, while you-’

‘You need to stop,’ Marit hissed.

‘If you’re accusing me of being a neglectful father, I’ve got a thing or two to say! I’ve been walking on eggshells our entire relationship because you failed to properly care for those boys after their father’s death. Do you honestly think that trauma went away because you pretend it doesn’t exist? For as long as I’ve known them, I’ve been trying in vain to make up for the fact that not only their father, but their mother as well, left them to figure-’

‘Sure, Stein, if that’s what you think.’

‘Why else did they always treat me like a glorified babysitter? They didn’t come up with that themselves! It’s because you don’t pull your weight in our relationship, and in your relationship with the boys–’

‘You’re out of your mind,’ Marit said coldly. ‘But you know what? If you’re the babysitter, you can bloody well sleep on the sofa. Get the hell out of here.’

‘I’ve put up with this shit for more than twenty years, Marit!’ Stein called from the hallway. ‘How do you think that made a sensitive kid like Espen feel? He knows damn well that everyone here looks down on me, and on him by extent! Has it ever occurred to you that maybe he looks this way because he’s always been made to feel like a black sheep?’

The door to the bedroom slammed shut.

‘You know what, this is where I draw the line,’ Stein called at the closed door. ‘You can all go to hell. Too bad they don’t teach basic human decency at university, because then maybe the three of you would’ve had some by now!’

Stein made his way to the stairwell, where sat down on the upper step, and buried his face in his arms.

Espen shoved his chair backwards to go to him, but Jens was faster, leaving him to watch how he pulled Stein to his feet and grabbed him by the shoulders.

‘Dad… Listen to me. It wasn’t in vain. It took me a while to appreciate what you did for us, but now that I’m thinking of having children myself, and what kind of father I want to be, I do,’ Jens murmured, hugging him until Stein let him go with a pat on the back. 

The thought of the trouble his unthinking behaviour had caused between his parents led Espen to their bedroom. He knocked quietly, and opened the door. His mother pulled her silk robe tighter around herself. She shot him a level look.

‘You can’t blame dad for something I did behind his back.’ A painful silence stretched between them. Espen’s phone buzzed in his pocket. ‘I didn’t think you’d have such a strong aversion to it. I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you by doing this. And I’m sorry I caused this mess between you.’

‘And you’re not sorry that you permanently mutilated yourself?’ Marit asked sharply.

With newly flaring anger, Espen turned his back on his mother and pulled his shirt up.

‘Did you ever even see this? Or my leg?’

Marit’s face remained impassive, cold and stoic when Espen righted his clothes and met her eyes again.

He forced himself to continue. ‘If I have to accept I’m going to be stuck with those for the rest of my life, you can bloody well accept the mutilation I got of my own volition. But you can’t blame someone who had nothing to do with it!’

Marit opened her mouth, outraged.

‘Listen well, Espen,’ she hissed. ‘You don’t dictate what your father and I get to say to each other. You’re still at the bottom of the pecking order here, even though you might have gotten the idea the world revolves around you. You haven’t accomplished anything yet, and as long as you live under my roof you would do well to curb your tongue in my presence. Starting tonight, you’re grounded until the end of the year, because of that godawful tattoo and your appalling attitude.’

‘Fine,’ Espen said between clenched teeth. ‘As long as you make up with dad.’

Marit disappeared into the bathroom and locked the door behind her, leaving him with a mixture of helpless anger and a heavy conscience. On the landing, he heard Jens bid his father goodbye at the door. Moments later, he watched the red taillights of Jens’ car disappear through his bedroom window.

Espen remembered his phone.

_Don’t think I don’t support you one hundred percent because I stayed._

_I punched him in the face for you but I suspect it hurt me more than him._

_I hope you can forgive me. I trust that you will get through this. ~ Daniel_

_Don’t wory.  It’s not a choice bewteen me and him. ~ Espen_

The blue light of Espen’s laptop screen illuminated the sad lines of his father’s face when he joined Espen on his bed later that night. Espen paused the episode he was watching through his blurring vision, and set aside the laptop.

‘Dad? If you decide to leave, know that I’ll come with you.’

A split between his parents was one of the worst things he could imagine, especially because his mother did not deserve to be abandoned for a second time, but his loyalty irrevocably lay with his father.

‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’ Stein remained silent for a minute. ‘I think you did right by yourself, letting Frode know he went too far.’

Espen closed his eyes when his father's fingers tucked a stray curl behind his ear. ‘Was it naive to hope things would get better now that we’re all adults? I don't need him to approve of everything I do, but I wish he would give me the benefit of the doubt once in a while.’

Stein cleaned his glasses on his jumper.

‘All the anger he holds inside warps the things that come out of mouth beyond recognition, and blinds him to the fact that others have feelings, too, feelings that might not be compatible with his views.’

‘He was right about mum, though. Maybe I haven’t thought it through properly.’

‘That doesn’t give him the right to say such things to you. I’m so sorry, Espen. I’ve let this get way out of hand because of… well, fear of rejection, from both him and your mum. I've been so hung up on the fact that I could not replace what they lost, but I should have guided him better, and called him out on his behaviour. You were such an easy-going child. I didn’t want to make it seem like I was playing favourites. That’s given him a lot of power to hurt you.’

‘It’s okay, Pappa. I don’t think you could’ve done more than set the right example.’

Stein rested his forehead against Espen’s for a moment. ‘I wish I could have spared you this.’

‘You taught me to know myself, and that I can always rely on my father. Everything else is secondary.’

Espen placed his laptop back on his legs. His father’s questions about the characters and the storyline ceased after a while, only to be replaced by the deep breaths of much-needed sleep. Espen carefully took his father’s glasses, and pulled the covers over him. On the other side of the valley, between the pine trees on the mountain, it was dark. Espen wondered if his brother was losing even one minute of sleep over this.

 

***

 

It took Frode a while to realise the buzzing in the corner of the room came from his phone, distracted as he was by the incessant pandemonium in his mind. Thoughts of who it could be and what they might want with him tumbled around until the screen told him Jens had been trying to reach him for a while now.

‘Jens.’

Frode took the charger from his phone, and sat on the floor with his back against the wall. Jens remained silent, as if despite his attempts to contact him, he had nothing to say.

‘What is it? I’ve got a whole house to furnish, so get on with it.’ Frode fiddled with the screws that belonged to his bedframe.

‘Shall I drop by to help?’ Jens asked. His version of an apology.

‘No. Seems like a bad idea. Look, I get that it’s my own fault I screwed up with Espen, but– Was it really necessary, Jens?’

‘I didn’t know you were going to take it out on him,’ Jens said timidly. ‘I was just making an observation.’

‘An observation.’

The memory of Jens’ poisonous remarks fuelled an oppressive sort of anger that had its origin in deep shame. Frode ended the call, and threw his phone back into the corner with a little too much force.

‘I need to get out of here,’ he thought aloud when Jens rang again.

‘Where are we going?’ Daniel entered the bedroom, and cast a questioning look at the buzzing phone. He squatted in front of Frode to cup his face with his hand. ‘Frode?’

‘Wear sensible shoes.’

Daniel insisted he be the one to drive, since he’d gotten significantly more sleep in the last couple of days. Frode set up the Satnav for him, and tossed his camping gear and backpack in the trunk of the car.

‘How long will we be gone for?’ Daniel asked.

Frode shrugged. ‘When do you have to be back for work?’

Daniel got behind the wheel and drove towards the E6. As soon as they left the greater Lillehammer area behind, Frode grabbed his phone to message Espen. The words refused to come. He rubbed a hand across his face with a noise of frustration.

‘Keep it simple,’ Daniel suggested quietly. ‘What’s the most important thing you need him to know?’

_Espen, I’m sorry. The last thing I want is to lose you. Believe me when I say I love you. ~ Frode_

His words sounded hollow, and barely scratched the surface of what he meant to say. He’d always been better at destroying people than building them up. He let his head rest against the passenger window. The XC60’s growling engine and the monotonous minor chords of Daniel’s music drowned out his thoughts, and he slept dreamlessly. 

Daniel woke him after a couple of hours with the sounds of a quiet phone call. Beyond the windshield, the desolate landscape of Jotunheimen stretched before them.

‘… not back by Monday night, then… Yeah, something like that. I’ve barely got any reception here. No, don’t worry, I just need someone to know where I am. Okay, thanks, sweetheart. Love you too.’

‘Who was that?’ Frode asked when Daniel ended the call.

‘Liv,’ Daniel answered. He undid his seatbelt.

Frode got out of the car, where a gust of chill autumn wind immediately cut off his breath. He slung his bags over his shoulder. ‘Come.’

Daniel kept up with him longer than Frode would’ve thought him capable of. As Frode scouted out a camping spot in the sparse grass, Daniel sat down on a boulder at the edge of a lake. Frode didn’t hear him complain, but Daniel looked as if he felt tired, or cold. He slumped a little, one leg pulled up to his chest. The blue-black hair hiding most of his face and his faded black clothes gave the impression that, like the grey rocks and the deep blue lakes, Daniel was a naturally occurring phenomenon here. Frode quietly pulled his camera from his backpack, took a photo, and crawled closer so as not to interrupt his thoughts. The angle gave him a better composition. Daniel looked up when he heard the shutter, and Frode took another, catching his expressive eyes and the curve of his pale mouth framed by surgical steel.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ he said in answer to the silent question in Daniel’s expression.

Daniel hung his head. His shy grin exposed his small white teeth.

Frode put his camera away and came to sit with him, his back against the boulder. Daniel’s fingers combed through his hair.

‘I used to think this was my favourite place to be, because I never encountered another soul here no matter how many times I visited.’

Daniel took in the desolate, inhospitable mountain range of stark rock and cold water. Clouds in a variety of shapes and sizes chased across the peaks covered in eternal snow. It was a good place to let go of your thoughts. To view without looking for anything. To ground without being completely present.

‘Yet you took me with you.’

‘Yeah.’ Frode wrapped an arm around Daniel’s leg and let his head rest on his knee. Solitude had recently lost its lustre.

 

***

 

An incoming call from Daniel interrupted Frode in the process of filling his bookcases. Academic literature lined three of the shelves so far, arranged by topic and publisher. He tossed  _The Properties of Petroleum Fluids_  on a chair.

Daniel’s voice chased away the bleak loneliness of another day of working on his house alone. ‘How did it go today?’

‘It was fine. How are you?’

‘Frode. Did you go see your GP?’

‘Yeah,’ Frode said curtly. Daniel ought to know by now that he did not break promises.

‘What did he say?’

‘Nothing new. My symptoms are hard to verify objectively, and part of a normal reaction to this sort of event-’

‘Did he think your self-medicating with alcohol and sleeping pills is normal, too?’ Daniel asked sharply.

Frode said nothing. He’d been honest about his nightmares, the sleeplessness and his disproportionate irritability, but saw no point in baring his entire soul right away.

‘And what about those suicidal thoughts you told me about a while back? Frode, come on! If you only went to give yourself a false sense of security, you might as well not have!’

‘I haven’t used anything in ages. You need to give it time.’

Daniel made a sound of protest, but Frode talked over him.

‘You’ve got to understand that as soon as I turn out to be mentally unstable, my whole life falls apart. Do you think they’ll let me continue to do my job? Do you think they’ll still give me the responsibility over a hundred and sixty people on a petrol bomb out at sea?’

‘Should you be having that responsibility?’ Daniel fired back.

‘Yes! Do you know how god damned hard I worked to earn that? I know that you mean well, but-’

‘But what?’

‘When I’m unemployed and on antidepressants, what do you think I have left to offer you? I’ll be absolutely worthless.’

‘It really pains me to hear that you think you’re not worth it,’ Daniel said, his voice shaking. ‘That you think  _I_  would feel that way.’ 

‘Give me time. I’m already so much better than last summer…’

‘Don’t be naive. You don’t believe that, do you?’

‘Then what do you want? Who’s going to say what’ll be left of me after some doctor starts meddling with the chemical balance of my brain?’

‘You don’t need to go on medication right away.’

‘Daniel, before I give up control over my own head-’

‘You’ve already lost control! Why do you think Espen doesn’t want to see you anymore?’

‘Leave Espen out of this.’

‘No, I won’t! Everything depends on how you choose to deal with this situation.’

After Daniel hung up the phone, Frode picked his book back up. There was an envelope on the floor next to the chair. It must’ve fallen from the book. A childish scrawl addressed the envelope to Frode in Trondheim.

A tension headache settled between his eyes. He stuffed the letter between the pages of the book, set the book on the shelf next to  _Elements of Chemical Reaction Engineering_  and went to grab some painkillers. 

The indeterminate melancholy that took possession of him as he sorted through his academic literature eventually forced him to pick  _The Properties of Petroleum Fluids_ back up and tear open the envelope.

 

 _Vingnes, the 29_ _ th _ _of September 2003_

_Hi Frode,_

_How are you doing? Do you liek Trondheim? Jens says your studies are very dificult. I copyd your adres from his schooldairy._ _Pappa keeps cooking to much food because he forgets your not coming home. He says he mises you. Mama calls Jens Frode all the time. I think she mises you to._

 

Four pages full of spelling errors and hypercorrect conjugations recorded Espen’s observations of the changed situation at home, the new year at the  _barneskole_  he went to, and the weather of the changing season.

The dark living room of the new house suddenly felt as stifling as his old room in Trondheim. Frode extracted his mountain bike from the mess in the room that temporarily served as storage, grabbed his coat and backpack, and stepped outside. Rain dripped down from the pine trees on his property. He switched to a light gear, and hit the road down the mountain.

An hour later he propped his mountain bike against the wall of his mother’s house. He wiped the icy rain dripping from his hair out of his face. Perhaps it was the reflectiveness of the rain on the kitchen window, but Espen appeared to be looking straight through him from where he was mopping muddy paw prints off the floor. Frode gestured to the front door, hoping that the past two weeks had been long enough for Espen to cool down a little.

Espen made his way into the hall with the dog on his heels, but bolted the door from the inside rather than open it. His shadow, visible through the glass of the door, quietly disappeared. Spøkel remained on the door mat, whimpering mournfully.

A first dull thud from within the walls flowed into a rhythm that sounded like distant thunder. While Espen shut the world out with a wall of noise, Frode shook out his coat and sat down on the steps underneath the portico. Somewhere in his bag he found a piece of paper and a pen.

_Dear Espen,_

_I miss you. I don’t like having to ask Daniel how you’re doing instead of being able to talk to you face to face. The past weeks felt like an eternity. Dan advised against talking to you before I had a clear idea of what I really want to say, and to be honest, it’s been hard to think of anything else._

_First of all, I was way out of line comparing you and your friends to genocidal mass-murderers. That accusation is completely unfounded, and I regret it terribly. I guess it makes me jealous that you have a better relationship with them, and that it’s easier for you to talk to them about what’s on your mind. I feel like I should’ve been the one you could rely on more than anyone, but I suppose I fucked that up years ago._

_Believe me when I say I care about you a lot. It’s not always been this way, but I love you more and more now that we’re getting to know each other better. Too much, according to Jens, and that frightens me, I think._

_Ever since the accident I keep losing you at night, in as many scenarios as my nightmares can conjure up, but I can barely fathom, let alone accept, having finally lost you like this, through my own horrible behaviour. I know it’s selfish of me to ask this of you, but whenever you feel like giving it another shot – on your terms – let me know._

_I love you, I really do._

_Frode_

The piece of paper had become wet in places by the time he finished writing, and he doubted it’d survive the letter box since the dog still sat behind the door. Spøkel would likely rip it to shreds trying to carry it to Espen between her teeth. He looked out from underneath the portico. Espen’s bedroom window on the first floor was ajar. With the paper folded up in his pocket, Frode leapt up to grip the edge of the portico with both hands, and pulled himself up until he could swing a leg over the edge. Mud from his hiking shoes stuck to the white paint of the wooden boards that horizontally covered the upper floors of the house. He absently hoped the rain would wash the dirt away before his mother thought someone had tried to break into her home. After tossing his letter onto Espen’s bed through the window opening, he jumped back down into the gravel of the driveway. There wasn’t anything more he could do without treading Espen’s boundaries. There was always a chance they’d see each other at Daniel’s graduation next week.

 


	21. Chapter 21

A watery morning sun streamed through the windows of the university’s auditorium, and bathed Daniel’s hair in a blue glow as he stepped up to the lectern. He spoke with humour and confidence about the research he had done. Graduating at the top of his class, he had the honour of presenting his thesis at the ceremony. Frode already knew the contents of his presentation, and devoted himself to taking pictures rather than listening, but Espen’s absence amidst Daniel’s friends on the other side of the aisle undermined his focus. 

‘Frode?’ someone in the row of seats behind him whispered.

He looked around with the vain hope that it might be his little brother, but instead of Espen, a vaguely familiar woman in her early twenties gave him a conspiratorial smile. One of the twins, he realised. They met during a family visit Daniel subjected him to weeks ago. His formal introduction to Daniel’s parents hadn’t gone over well. Their cold reservation confirmed his suspicions that they weren’t quite prepared to view him as a person, but merely as the embodiment of the fact that their son was in a committed relationship with another man. It had been awkward.

‘I already wondered why my parents have that sour look on their faces,’ she said gleefully. ‘Hey, you brought a camera. Great idea.’

‘Hey Liv,’ Frode whispered back. ‘Don’t you have some oil rig you need to be chaining yourself to?’

Liv’s quiet giggle drew Daniel’s eyes her way. They looked less alike than Daniel and their youngest sister Reidun, but their kinship was strong in the casually challenging look in her eyes.

‘Is that your doing?’ Liv leaned towards Frode, and nodded at the sleek black suit Daniel was wearing.

‘He’ll take any suggestion if you go about it the right way,’ Frode said under his breath.

‘I bet…’ Liv nudged him with her elbow. ‘You two need to come over for dinner sometime.’

‘Sounds good. I’m going to be gone a couple weeks from Sunday on, so you’ll have to take it up with Daniel.’

Daniel came to sit with them when his presentation was over, a relieved expression on his face. He hung across the back of his chair to whisper with his sister for the rest of the ceremony.

‘You know why Espen isn’t here?’ Frode asked Daniel during the reception afterwards. ‘I didn’t think he’d want to miss this.’

‘He’s grounded because he gave your mother attitude when she reacted to that tattoo like you did.’

Frode resolved to talk to his mother when he got home. Perhaps he could convince her to let Espen go to Oslo for the party Marius was throwing tonight. ‘Listen, I’m leaving in a minute…’

Daniel sighed. ‘Because we’re going to be drinking, or because you are persona non grata?’

‘Bit of both. Sorry.’ Frode took Daniel in his arms, and lifted his chin with a finger for a kiss. ‘Have fun tonight. Will I see you before I go back to work?’

‘Of course.’

Back in Oppland that afternoon, Frode drove on to his mother’s house first. Chances were that Espen would refuse him entrance again, but Frode rang the doorbell instead of letting himself in with his key to give him a choice. The piano music that sounded from inside the house stopped. Stein eventually appeared in the doorway, and silently stepped aside.

‘Is Espen home?’ Frode asked uncertainly when Stein turned his back to continue working with his student without as much as a greeting.     

‘Espen works till six.’

Frode glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll come back tonight, then.’

Stein abruptly spun around. ‘For what? What do you want from him?’

Frode ran a hand through his hair, and subconsciously took a step back.

‘Feeling guilty?’ Stein bit at him. ‘I hope you choke on it. You’ve broken his heart too many times as it is.’

‘I know. He deserves better. I want to do right by him.’

Stein looked at him long and hard, his grey eyes stormy and chilling behind his black spectacles. ‘You can’t offer Espen what he deserves. Too many times I’ve fooled myself into thinking: He’ll learn. Tomorrow we’ll try again. That boy has had a hard life, and Espen is resilient. But when you leave what happened to you out of the equation, you just have a shit personality, Frode. You feel too self-righteous to care about anyone else. I guess you got that from your mother.’

Frode opened his mouth to defend his mother, but Stein was not done.

‘Espen and I have tried long enough. No one’s ever helped us keep this stone cold, fucked-up family together. When Espen’s ready to leave for Oslo, we’re out of here. I hope you can leave us well alone in the meantime.’

Frode felt the ground slowly crumbling beneath his feet. The cold fear of never seeing either of them again wrapped itself around his heart. Jens would never talk to him again when he heard Frode had torn their entire family apart. That he’d a lose another father.

‘But what about mum…?’

Stein laughed mirthlessly. ‘I’m sure the two of you will manage fine. Like you were meant to.’

 

***

 

Empty bottles littering the carpet next to the couch filled Frode’s blurry vision when he regained consciousness. He rubbed sleep from his sensitive eyes, and tried to sit up. His suit jacket and tie hung over the back of the couch. The rest, including his shoes, he was still wearing. The fog of his incoherent dream dissipated. When he pushed himself upright with difficulty, it slowly became clear that it hadn’t been a dream, but a memory he’d long suppressed.

_Espen was too big to sit on his lap, really, some six years old, but Frode allowed it as long as the TV distracted him._

_‘Frode,’ Espen said. His fluffy curls tickled Frode’s chin as he looked up. ‘We can share, you know.’_

_Frode wondered whether Espen was trying wheedle some food out of him, as was usually the case when he began about sharing. ‘Share what?’_

_‘My dad.’_

_Frode didn’t respond. He was distantly aware that Stein had had_ _the_ _talk_ _with Espen, but that was no concern of his._

_‘You’re going to need a new one if yours isn’t coming back,’ Espen said, as if he had any idea what he was talking about._

_‘I don’t need a father, much less yours,’ Frode snapped at him._

_‘Mine’s very nice, though…’ Espen said with an inviting smile._

_‘Shove off.’ Frode tried to push him off his lap, but Espen clung to him like a little monkey, shrieking in protest._

_‘If you want to sit here you need to shut your mouth.’_

_Espen nodded, and wormed his way underneath Frode’s arm to snuggle against his side._

Frode sat up, resting his pounding head on his hands. His gaze fell on the messy pile of envelopes he had extracted, letter after letter, from his books yesterday. Time had faded the ink in some spots, but the pictures that came with some of the letters were still clear.

_October 14 th, 2004_

_Hi Frode_ ,

_Mum buoght a puppy!!! She’s very sweet and her name is_   _Spøkel! She has very sharp litle teeth and she chews up everthing because she’s still a baby. How are you? To bad you coudn’t come camping with us. Jens didn’t come eithre because he had this sumer job…_

Espen filled the page and went on on the back, where he barely had room for his name in the lower right corner. There were two pictures in the envelope; one rather over-exposed photo featuring the white shepherd pup, and one featuring Jens with acne and a horrible orange jumper on, who showed a delighted Espen how to pet the fluffy little dog.

From the last envelope Frode extracted Espen’s shortest letter. A yellow post-it with Stein’s handwriting stuck to the upper right corner. Frode peeled it off to read Espen’s missive.

_Hey Frode, I’m not sure if you even get to reed this, because I was talking to Jens about how my letters are perhaps not coming trough and he said the postal service isn’t that relyable or some thing like that? He also said it was wierd I still write letters because everyone’s using e-mail now. I could e-mail you. I hope you’re doing okay._   _Spøkel is growing really fast. Not much longer before she’ll be as big as me wehn she stands on her back legs. Will you come look at her? I’m sure you’ll liek her. Alright thats it I can’t think of anythnig else to  say._   _Bye! Espen_

The ink on the post-it had become very light, but it was readable.

_Hey Frode, Espen really misses you - we all do. If you ever have time to write back it’d mean so much to him. It doesn’t need to be a lengthy epistle or anything. Have you thought about coming home for Christmas? I could come pick you up if you’re not up for the journey by train. Let me know. Lots of love - from your mother, too._

Frode nudged the backpack lying next to the couch with the point of his shoe. Glass rang against glass. He fished out a new bottle of whiskey. Shuddering at the taste, the burning sensation in his throat a paradox between relief and punishment, he kept drinking until he felt light-headed. He got up on unsteady legs and sought his bathroom mostly by touch. Avoiding his own eyes in the mirror, he pried the remaining Diazepam tablets from their casing, and began texting Daniel an apology.

 

***

 

Espen blindly felt for the phone lighting up on his nightstand, momentarily confused in the twilight of his room. His laptop still played the TV-series he must’ve fallen asleep to, listless from boredom.

‘Daniel?’

‘… Could you do something for me?’ Daniel whispered. He sounded frightened, uncertain.

Espen sat bolt upright in bed. ‘Yeah, what do you need?’

‘Could you check up on your brother? I have a bad feeling.’

‘Where are you?’ Espen snatched up his bag and hurried from the room.

‘I’m on the train. I wish I didn’t have to ask this of you, but I’m extremely worried about him.’

‘It’s alright, I’m heading out now.’

Down in the hallway, he grabbed his father’s car keys and disappeared through the front door as quietly as he could.

‘Are you still there?’ Espen asked when he sped across the bridge. ‘What’s going on?’

Daniel hesitated. ‘He sent me a bunch of weird messages, and now he’s not picking up his phone.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Chances are he’s wasted, so they’re hard to decipher… Something about his father throwing in the towel because he couldn’t live with him. I’m so afraid he’s going to do something stupid.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll call you back.’

Espen parked his father’s car next to Frode’s, and made his way to the dark cabin. Cold nipped at his face, and made his breath visible in the night air.

Frode didn’t answer when Espen knocked and called his name to be sure. Without a key, Espen was at a loss for what to do next. Music sounded from somewhere within the house. Instinctively, he followed the familiar chord progression until he found a window that was slightly ajar.

‘Frode?’ He called again, a little louder. ‘Frode!’

It was too dark to see inside, and the crack too narrow to crawl through. He took out his pocket knife and crouched down to unscrew the window prop without thinking. Gathering up the screws, he hoisted himself inside.

A rhythmic ticking that was out of time with the music drew his attention in the blackness of the bedroom. A dark, wet spot in the middle of the bed glistened in the faint moonlight that filtered in through the window. Suddenly terrified, he edged along the wall. Drops fell steadily, splashing into a puddle on the floor. His heart pounded in his throat. With one hand curled around the door frame, he fumbled for the light switch.

Espen squinted against the sudden brightness, and tried to quickly find his bearings. His eyes fell on his brother’s motionless body, collapsed against the bed. One of his arms lay atop the covers, the bottle in his hand in a puddle of amber liquid that ran down his arm and off the bed.

Espen fell to his knees onto the wooden floorboards, and took Frode’s head in his hands, quaking with fear. Frode’s bluish face felt deadly cold. He did not seem to be breathing. Espen set the bottle aside, propped him up with his back against the bed frame, and shook him.

‘Frode!’

Frode’s head lolled to the side, unresponsive. Espen pushed his fingers under his jaw in search of the carotid artery, and sighed in relief when he felt a weak pulse.

He entered the bathroom to get his brother some water. The glass slipped from his hands into the sink when he saw an empty strip of pills underneath the mirror. He grabbed the box and turned it over.

With his phone in hand, he hesitated. He didn’t want Daniel to be confronted with this under any circumstance, but he needed help. He tossed his ringing phone on the bed and guided his comatose brother to the floor to lay him on his side.

‘Hi Espen!’

Espen’s heart beat against his ribs at the sound of Kristin’s voice. ‘Kristin, please help me!’

‘What’s going on, sweetheart?’

‘It’s Frode... He’s been drinking lots and I think he took some pills. He’s barely breathing.’

Kristin drew in a sharp breath. ‘What did he take?’

‘The box says… Diazepam.’

‘Shit, goddamnit,’ Kristin swore. ‘How many?’

‘I don’t know. The box is empty.’

A muted discussion with Jens sounded on the other side of the line.

‘Espen? Can you make him throw up? If he doesn’t breathe normally after, get him to the ER, alright?’

Espen helplessly cast about. The distance between Frode’s bedroom and the bathroom seemed insurmountable at the prospect of having to move Frode alone. He needed to figure something out.

A car’s headlights illuminated the trees flanking the cabin, and turned away again. The front door unlocked.

‘Daniel!’ Espen called, torn between relief and panic.

Daniel’s footsteps approached swiftly. He scanned the bedroom, and visibly paled when he saw Frode lying on the floor.

‘Don’t worry. It’s going to be alright, I swear,’ Espen said to reassure Daniel as much as himself. ‘Could you help me get him to the bathroom?’

Daniel gave a curt nod and ducked underneath one of Frode’s arms. Together they dragged Frode’s heavy body across the threshold.

‘Go,’ Espen said as he knelt by his brother’s side on the tiles.

Daniel turned on his heel and walked away. Espen propped Frode up over the toilet, holding him by a fistful of hair, and pried his jaws apart. Frode began to gag and struggle weakly when Espen jabbed his fingers in the back of his throat. Espen repeated the process until Frode stopped throwing up amber liquid, then let his brother collapse onto the floor. Frode briefly opened his unfocused and confused eyes as Espen washed his face with a cold washcloth.

He gripped Espen’s arm. ‘Sheepie,’ he mumbled.

Frode’s grasp weakened when he lost consciousness again. Espen sat down on the floor and gathered him up in his arms, going back and forth between cursing him and smoothing his matted, red gold hair back.

Slowly but surely, Frode’s breathing eased. Relief, anger and pity warred for the upper hand until they all blurred together in Espen’s mind. He lost track of time, sitting on the tile floor and listening to Frode’s breathing.

In the living room, Daniel turned off the music. He stripped Frode’s bed, flipped the mattress, and made it again. Espen looked up when he appeared in the bathroom, numb and resigned, his long hair in a tail and his sleeves rolled up. Espen’s anger flared again, along with incomprehension. Frode had to know this was extraordinarily painful for Daniel. He kept his outrage to himself, not wanting to make things worse.

Together, they put Frode to bed. Daniel rid him of his ruined dress shirt.

Espen sat down on the edge. 'Do you think we need to follow up on this? Get a doctor or something?’

Daniel regarded Frode, then shook his head. ‘Thank you for doing this for him.’

‘Not so much for him,’ Espen said under his breath. 

Daniel pulled him closer with an arm around his shoulder. Espen’s hair got stuck in one of Daniel’s lip rings when Daniel briefly hugged him.

‘Was this what you meant when we talked about him over at your parents’?’ Espen asked as Daniel carefully detangled himself and walked over to the window.

Daniel spoke again when Espen repaired the window prop to stop the cold from coming in. ‘I told him I’d leave him if he started drinking again.’

Espen followed Daniel’s sad gaze to the bed. ‘You knew he had issues with it?’

Daniel nodded. ‘He’s been trying hard to get it under control lately, but fighting the symptoms isn’t enough. He’s constantly at war with himself.’

‘He never lets anything on. He always seems so confident.’

‘He is, but on the flip side he doesn’t dare to open up to others when he needs help.’

Espen squeezed Daniel’s shoulder in what he hoped was an encouraging way, and went to make coffee. Looking around in Frode’s kitchen, he took in the changes since he’d last been there. Above the built-in bench of the kitchen table hung a framed photo of two fox cubs curled around each other against a mossy tree trunk, alone between the out of focus greens on the foreground. On the fridge, magnets held an array of pictures; Jens, Espen and Frode on top of a mountain; Daniel hugging his cat; Daniel in a forest, laughing and trying to hide his face with his hand; Jens on ice skates on a wide frozen lake; Espen with pointy elf ears sticking out between his then blond hair. An overexposed photo of Spøkel as a pup.

Frode must have given a sign of life in the bedroom, because Espen heard Daniel talk to him. He looked around the corner. Frode tried to struggle upright, and Daniel used the opportunity to make him drink more water. Frode let himself be pushed back down with ease, and returned to sleep within moments.

Espen took the mugs to an untidy living room, where a collection of glasses and empty bottles formed a semi-circle around Frode’s couch. Daniel came to sit next to him with a tight-lipped look at the mess. Espen took the glass away and wiped the low table down with a cloth he found in the kitchen.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. For a minute he feared his mother had discovered he’d snuck out.

_Need help, or are you managing? ~ Jens_

_He’s sleeping now. I’ll keep you posted. ~ Espen_

Espen realised he’d better let his father know where he was.

_Am at Frode’s with Daniel. I took your car. Let me know when you need me to come home. ~ Espen_

_Don’t worry, I’ll cover for you. Be careful, it’s going to snow later. XO Pappa ~ Stein_

Daniel curled up to Espen, his hands wrapped around his warm mug. Espen’s mind slowly quieted, like the rest of the house on the mountain.

‘I can’t stay with him. We had an agreement,’ Daniel said. And after a beat: ‘It’d be stupid to overlook this, right? Where else do I draw the line?’

‘I don’t know,’ Espen answered earnestly. ‘I get that it weighs on your mind, but perhaps you shouldn’t make any important decisions when you’re frightened or upset.’

‘This shit makes me so bitter. I can’t stand not being able to get through to him. He’s been good to me, and I just want him to heal and get past this so he can be happy.’

‘Perhaps he needs more time. It’s up to you whether you’re prepared to invest that time in him now that he’s damaged your trust like this.’

‘Why does this always have to hurt so badly?’

‘A good relationship shouldn’t hurt,’ Espen said. ‘Not this much, I think. But I’m not going to tell you what to do, or feel.’

He got up to give Daniel some space, and himself something to do. Picking up around the house and washing the glasses kept him occupied for a while.

‘Shall I take you home?’ he asked Daniel after he put away the last glass.

‘Where to? Marius is going to say I should have seen it coming. My parents-’ Daniel fell silent, overcome by emotion. ‘I don’t want to leave. I don’t want this.’

‘It’s alright. You don’t need to.’ Espen wrapped the blanket that lay across the arm rest around Daniel’s shoulders. ‘This is so horrible for you.’

He turned on the TV to combat the pressing silence. It showed a boring nature documentary that suited depressing Friday nights. Espen sat at Daniel’s feet, close enough in case he needed something, but hopefully not too stifling. His arm began tingling after a while, and he shifted his weight. His hand accidentally pushed a piece of paper further underneath the sofa. After feeling blindly for a moment, he found a dated envelope.

‘What’s that?’

Espen didn’t immediately hand it over to Daniel, but studied a messy scrawl that never changed much over time. ‘It’s mine.’

 


	22. Chapter 22

Snow began to fall while Espen stared outside from underneath his blanket on Frode’s couch. The skies gradually lightened. Sleep had been eluding him for a while now, cold as he was, his limbs stiff from lying on soft, uneven pillows. He’d gone through the pile of envelopes on the table, and found almost every letter he sent Frode during his time in Trondheim. There were even old pictures his father had given him to send along. He was surprised to see that Frode actually had them in his possession. He had long believed that they never arrived, and later, when he was a little older, that Frode must’ve thrown them out unopened, uninterested in the contents and Espen alike. It was a mystery why Frode had unearthed them now, though it explained where he had gotten the idea to leave a letter in Espen’s room.

Coming upstairs that night after locking Frode out of the house, he’d cried bitterly over that damned letter. It was everything he ever wanted to hear, but at this point, he had no idea to what extent he could put his faith in a lasting reconciliation anymore. Despite Frode being the one asking for it, he’d known it would probably take a sacrifice from his end to bring it about.   

Daniel entered the living room, looking worn out and defeated.

‘How was your night?’ Espen asked.

‘Let’s say there was plenty of opportunity to sleep. I had to pick Frode up off the floor only once. He’s so out of it. I don’t think he realises what he did.’

Espen hummed in acknowledgement.

‘You reckon he’ll be out much longer?’ Daniel asked.

‘Depends on how many of those pills he took,’ Espen answered. ‘Jens said the half-life of that stuff is rather long.’

Daniel pulled the foot end of Espen’s blanket across his legs. ‘I’m so angry. And crushed. It was so fucking-’ He took a deep breath. ‘It could’ve been so wonderful. We had  _plans_ …’

‘Does this change everything for you?’

Daniel fixed Espen with a grave look, as if it were of vital importance to him that Espen understood. Their age difference suddenly seemed like a huge chasm.

‘I knew he had issues right from the start, but the way in which he deals with them matters a lot. There’s no point to being in a relationship when he doesn’t at least have some consideration for me in all this. For my limits.’

Espen nodded gravely and closed his hands around Daniel’s. ‘I understand.’

‘This was a conscious choice for him. To turn to this again instead of asking me, or anyone, for help.’

Espen bit his lip, unsure how to express himself. ‘Back there, I was scared that–’

‘You were right to be.’ Daniel pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, as if he were fighting off a headache, or trying not to cry. Soft footfalls in the bedroom distracted him. He disappeared in the direction of the sound.

Espen tried to close himself off to the voices coming from the bedroom. It didn’t help. Daniel raised his voice too much not to hear how he accused Frode of running away from his problems; that he was more willing to estrange every single person in his life than to try find an actual solution; that he’d rather risk their entire relationship than open his mouth for once in his life.

Frode said nothing, until Daniel sharply demanded what he had to say for himself.

‘You’re right,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Yeah, and now what?’

‘I don’t know. That depends on you.’

‘It doesn’t depend on me, damn you!’ Daniel shouted. ‘It depends on  _you_! What do you want, huh? Keep going like this until you destroy yourself? I’m here, I’m telling you what you can do to fix this, I’m willing to hold your hand through all of it- and somehow that still doesn’t seem to make any difference to you!’

‘Daniel…’ Frode begged.

‘You know what I thought when we found you like that, yesterday? You know what would’ve happened if I hadn’t called Espen to check up on you?’

‘You should have let it.’

Espen flinched when a resounding smack sounded through the bedroom.

‘How can you say that to me?’

He hurried over to Frode’s bedroom and grabbed Daniel’s arms when he moved to lash out again. Frode sat on the edge of the bed, and didn’t defend himself. Sitting up straight seemed to take enough out of him as it was.

After a brief struggle, Daniel surrendered.

Espen reached out to brush the hair that escaped his tail out of his tormented face. ‘Calm down. Getting violent isn’t going to solve anything.’

‘Do I look like I’ve got any hope of solving anything?’ Daniel snapped, fighting back tears.

Frode looked away and bowed his head.

Espen steered Daniel to the kitchen and made him some tea. ‘Let’s get you out of here. Where do you want to go?’

‘Just take me to my mother,’ Daniel said in a wavering voice.

Unable to figure out what to do about Frode in the meantime, Espen called his own mother.  

‘Espen, where the hell are you? You’re still grounded, remember? I want you to come home immediately.’

Espen hesitated. ‘I’m at Frode’s. I’ll come home, but only if you come here to take care of him.’

‘What do you mean, take care of Frode?’

‘Mum, please… I don’t dare to leave him alone.’

Marit was silent for a beat. ‘I’ll be right there.’

Daniel let her in while Espen got dressed and gathered his stuff. ‘Thanks for coming over,’ Espen heard him say. ‘Has Espen told you what happened?’

‘No, not yet. He sounded serious.’

‘Frode overdosed last night. Espen got there just in time to prevent him from going into respiratory arrest.’

‘He… what?’

‘Marit, it's bad. I’ve been trying to get him to seek help for months. That accident really messed him up, and all the fighting with Espen on top of it... If you ask me, psychiatric help is long overdue.’

Espen silently thanked Daniel for having this conversation with his mother so he wouldn’t have to. He grabbed his bag and entered the kitchen.

‘Bye mum.’ He swiftly kissed her cheek. ‘I’m going straight to work. If you need help… I’m sure dad will come when you ask, and otherwise you can try ringing Jens.’

‘Are you leaving, too?’ Marit asked helplessly when Daniel shrugged into his parka.

‘Yeah,’ Daniel said. ‘It’s probably better if Frode and I don’t see each other anymore.’

 

***

 

‘Frode, wake up,’ said a quiet voice.

Frode gave no response. As long as he could sleep and not think of the reality of his situation, he was going to try and hold on to that. Daniel had made his point, and Espen… He’d probably hallucinated Espen. Espen would never voluntarily come back here.

He rolled over. His poisoned intestines screamed in agony.

‘Frode. I want you to sit up and drink something right now.’

He opened his eyes. This voice - that tone - was hard to resist. Frode propped himself up on an elbow. ‘Mum?’

Her eyes gleamed in the shadows. It looked like she had been there for a while. Defeat and disbelief warred across her face.

‘Why are you here?’

‘I’m… taking care of you,’ she said uncertainly.

‘Go home,’ Frode implored. He turned his back, and mumbled: ‘I don’t want you to see this.’

‘I actually feel like I’m seeing the real you for the first time in a long, long while.’

Frode imagined his appearance painfully reflected his inner turmoil at the moment. ‘Go home, forget about this,’ he whispered, almost pleading. ‘We’ll see each other again when I’m back on my feet.’

Marit shook her head. She knew as well as he did that there was no way he could simply pick up the pieces this time. He’d wrecked too much. Heading over to work with a clear head tomorrow would require nothing short of a miracle.

His mother came to sit on the bed, and ran her hand through his hair. She wasn’t going anywhere. ‘Will you please tell me what’s wrong?’

Frode’s breath caught in his throat as he tried to formulate an answer. ‘I have so many regrets. It’s so all-encompassing that I have no more room for it. Sometimes I just need to… not be for a while, so I won’t have to think about it.’

Marit’s slender hand on his shoulder forced him to turn around. ‘What do you regret, darling? Fighting with Espen?’

‘Did you know I make him feel like he has no right to exist? And Stein as if he has no place in our family? It’s because of me they’d rather go on alone than continue to try and make things work with us.’ His erratic breathing reminded Frode that if he stopped talking now he’d never be able to express his hopeless emotions. ‘It’s irreparable. I can’t take back what I said and did all these years. I don’t know what to do.’  

‘Why haven’t you ever talked to me, Frode?’

‘You were never there when I still knew how.’

His mother pressed a hand to her mouth and averted her face.

‘I’m sorry. I should never have come back here, but I’ve been so lonely.’

‘It really hurts me to hear you’re struggling so much. I probably never told you enough, but you’re so infinitely precious to me…’ Marit’s sobs pervaded the painful silence around them. ‘Don’t leave me behind, Frode. I’ll always love you no matter what, and I’ll always help you. Just don’t leave me…’

Frode pushed himself upright through the pain to pull her close. Seeing her so scared and sad in a way he had only seen her once before tore the heart out of him. He held her tight until she wiped away her tears with a sigh. Her ginger eyelashes stuck together wetly when she finally looked up at him, calmer and determined.

‘You know what, sweetheart? I’m most proud of you, the way you managed despite everything. You’re stronger than you think. You can overcome this.’

‘I can’t take back what I’ve done,’ he helplessly repeated. 

‘No. But you can still go forward. That’s something, at least.’ Marit handed him the mug she took from the windowsill. ‘Are you going to get yourself treatment, or do I need to get you a detention order?’

 

***

 

Marit quietly closed the door that separated Frode’s bedroom from the hallway when Espen let himself and his father in with the key Daniel had relinquished to him. She hesitated when she saw Stein. Espen made himself invisible in the awkward silence. He shook the snow from his coat, and put his boots on the rack.

‘Are you alright, love?’ his father asked.

His mother looked away, hugging herself as if she felt cold. ‘Stein… I didn’t want to hear it.’

‘Of course you didn’t,’ he spoke softly. He reached across the distance that separated them to carefully touch her arm. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘I don’t know...’ Her voice wavered.

Stein took her hand in his, and kissed her forehead. ‘Will you come home with me?’

Marit’s eyes moved through the hallway, to Frode’s door.

‘Go on, Mum,’ Espen said. ‘I’ll call if anything comes up.’

His mother startled, as if she hadn’t noticed him there before. She gave him a nod, and let his father help her into her coat.   

Espen grabbed his backpack and made his way to the kitchen to shove a frozen pizza in the oven. The front door clicked shut behind his parents, and silence descended over Frode’s cabin. The oven hummed quietly. In the low light over the kitchen table, Espen checked his latest unread message from Daniel.

_Shall I come over when you’re off work? ~ Daniel_

_I’m at Frode’s again. ~ Espen_

_Oh. Never mind then. ~ Daniel_

_Cal me if you want to talk. ~ Espen_

He sat down to eat his pizza at the table, chewing on a slice more out of habit than actual hunger as he read the book he borrowed from Inger. After a while, Frode shuffled into the kitchen, tying the drawstrings of his pyjama pants. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Espen.

‘Hi,’ Espen said.

Frode hesitantly reached out to touch his shoulder.

‘What?’

‘Never mind me.’ Frode heavily sat down across from him.

‘Well, that is kind of why I’m here. To mind you.’ Espen pushed the plate with the pizza towards him.

Frode declined with a minute shake of his head.

Espen’s phone on the table top lit up with Daniel’s picture. Its buzzing moved it a little in Frode’s direction. Espen grabbed it and indecisively held it in his hand. When he absently answered the phone, Frode sat around listening to Daniel’s voice for a minute before quietly removing himself.

Daniel spoke to Espen for a long while, more to get his feelings out of his system than out of a need for advice of any kind. Espen didn’t really register all of it. He was secretly relieved when the sound of Reidun’s voice broke up the conversation.

He found Frode with his head in his hands on the couch in the living room.

‘He’s not coming back, is he?’ Frode spoke almost inaudibly.

‘Doesn’t look like it.’

‘I can’t believe I chose this over him.’

‘That was the biggest mistake of your life,’ Espen agreed mercilessly.

He picked up his book, but couldn’t seem to get past the last sentence he read, too aware that next to him, Frode was silently going to pieces. He swallowed a lump in his throat at the sight of his brother nearly choking on the sobs he tried to hold in with a hand over his mouth. He’d never seen Frode in tears before. It was awful.

Espen tossed his book aside, drew Frode’s hand away, and held him in his arms. As Frode’s shoulders racked with silent sobs, Espen rocked him gently. ‘Just cry. It’s what you do when you’re grieving.’

However Espen told himself that Frode was the cause of his own misery, his big, dumb heart bled for his brother.

Frode numbly sagged against Espen when he exhausted his grief. Espen pulled the book closer with his fingertips, and leafed back to the beginning. He rubbed Frode’s broad back, where constellations of freckles changed into pale skin with a scattering of birth marks, and read out loud. His stumbling on words got less when he felt part of the tension drain from Frode’s posture and they both let themselves be distracted by a fictional reality.

‘How can you stand to be here right now?’ Frode muttered when Espen eventually put the book away.

‘I guess this is what they call unconditional love.’ Espen laughed sheepishly. ‘I can’t help it.’

Frode rubbed his eyes, the irises electric blue against bloodshot sclera.

‘And I was kind of worried about mum,’ Espen admitted.

‘I’m kind of glad you told her,’ Frode said. ‘I don’t suppose she is.’

‘You really don’t get how this works, do you? It’s give and take when you love someone. If we were meant to bear our burdens all by ourselves, then what’s the point of sticking together? That mum’s had a lot of grief in her day doesn’t mean she can’t help you with yours. It just means that you need to be there for her, in turn, when she needs it. Or we do. There’s enough of us.’

Frode gave a pensive nod. ‘You’re wiser than you look.’

Espen stuck out his tongue. ‘There are less underhanded ways of giving me a compliment.’

He moved in the direction of the bedroom to get some rest, unwilling to go home and leave Frode to his own devices. He claimed Frode’s bed for himself, refusing another night of suffering on the couch. His brother had probably slept enough. One of the nightstands bore a small wood carving. Espen rolled closer to look, under the assumption that it was a wolf, but the fluffy tail and big, triangular ears marked it a fox, on closer inspection.

‘What’s your deal with foxes?’ Espen asked, thinking about the picture in the kitchen.

Frode, who faced away from Espen to peer into his wardrobe, stiffened.

‘That’s a story for another time.’

Espen switched off the bedside light, and pulled the covers up to his chin. Frode gathered a set of clothes and took them with him.

Stupid question, Espen thought before he fell asleep, laughing to himself about the thought that occurred to him. Foxes were ginger, too.


	23. Chapter 23

Early on Sunday morning, a knock on the bedroom door woke Frode from his fitful sleep. The nausea of his unabating hangover came crashing down on him before he drew his first conscious breath. Then the grief followed. Next to him, Espen stirred, bumping into the laptop they’d watched a film on in the middle of the night when neither of them could sleep.

As Frode got up and crossed the bedroom floor with every fibre of his being protesting his continued existence, Espen sat upright and pushed his flyaway hair out of his face.

‘Did I just hear mum’s car, or did I dream that?’

Their mother waited in the hall when Frode opened the door, dressed warmly against the freshly fallen snow. She peered past Frode at Espen’s sleepy bedhead. ‘Glad to see you two aren’t losing any sleep over this. It’s ten in the morning.’

‘Wouldn’t say that, exactly,’ Frode said as Espen warily greeted her from the bed. ‘How are you?’

‘Stein and I had a long overdue conversation last night. It got late.’

Frode nodded when she said nothing else. He didn’t have the heart to inquire after the outcome of that conversation. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’

‘Let’s have breakfast. I want to take you somewhere.’

Espen took over setting the kitchen table and sat Frode down opposite their mother when he saw how Frode struggled to focus. He set two strong black coffees in front of them. ‘Where are you going?’

‘That’s really none of your concern, sweetheart,’ Marit said.

‘Oh, I see. Is this how it’s going to be again? I’ll leave you guys to it.’

Neither Frode nor Marit had the energy to call him back when he disappeared into the bedroom.

‘You’ll understand why I don’t want him there,’ Marit said quietly when she saw Frode staring after Espen. ‘Eat something, and get dressed. I’m taking you to your father.’

Frode did as he was told and refrained from asking why. He couldn’t bring himself to care enough to ask. There was no room in his head for anything but mourning what he’d done, and what he’d lost. The knowledge that Daniel wasn’t coming back tore him asunder all over every time he had a second to dwell on it. Every step he took treaded on the shards of his hope for a better life.

After he dug up a warm jumper, Espen opened the door of the bathroom, letting out a cloud of steam. Frode took a hold of his arm as he tried to squeeze past, wrapped in a towel. ‘I’ll let you know what went down when I get back, okay?’

‘You don’t need to,’ Espen said in a milder voice than Frode expected. ‘I’m just grouchy cause I didn’t sleep too well. Sorry.’

Marit drove Frode north down the mountain, to the outskirts of town, and made him get out of the car where bare birch trees shielded the cemetery’s entrance from the surrounding neighbourhood. Frode stared at the mossy concrete wall in disbelief, feeling suddenly flustered and overwhelmed as if he would be meeting his father in person for the first time in twenty-six years. His mother took his arm, and led him past the open, cast iron gates. The white light filtering through the cloud cover reflected on the snow, blinding him. Marit gently pulled him along; even after all these years, she knew where to find the grave.

She wiped the snow from the headstone, so that the impersonal epitaph  _‘Olav Solheim, 16-09-58 - 27-03-1988, beloved husband and father’_  became visible. Frode swallowed with difficulty as he remembered how his mitten had dangled from his sleeve when he grasped mum’s cold hand next to his head. Her borderline hysterical sobs when the coffin bearing his father’s remains descended into the grave made it sound like the world was about to end. He’d been scared. Dad would never wake up again, and mum would never stop crying.

Frode blindly took her hand, small in his now, clad in a supple leather glove, and cradled it against his cheek.

‘Are you alright, darling?’

He shook his head.

His mother let him battle it out with his emotions for a while before she spoke. ‘Every time I see you, you remind me of how much I loved him. I couldn’t help him, but I’ll be damned before I let you slip away, too.’

‘I don’t know how to keep going with everything falling to pieces around me.’

‘Is this how you want it to end, then? A cold grave and an eternity of nothing? Saddling your family with a grief they’ll never get over?’

Frode held his silence.

‘Nothing has fallen to pieces yet. You can recover from your addictions with the right help, and you can repair your relationships once you get yourself sorted. It’s going to hurt to go on, but do it anyway.’ Marit squeezed his hand. ‘I’m going to give you a moment. I trust you’ll come back to the car in not too long.’

Frode nodded. When his mother walked away, he set the fox carving he carried in his pocket on the headstone.

‘Hey dad. It’s been a while.’

Standing there at his father’s grave, rather than reliving those horrible final days again, one of his most cherished memories surfaced. He thought of how his father had once carried him through a meadow in bloom on his shoulders.

_The water of the lake undulated on the warm breeze in the valley below. Big hands circled his ankles so he wouldn’t fall. He asked his father the names of birds that flew overhead. His father knew many animals by name, and trees and plants as well. Jens waddled on his mum’s hand, and repeated that he saw a cat until someone acknowledged it._

_The sun appeared from behind the clouds, and made his dad’s hair shine. Frode buried his fingers in it, and wondered aloud what colour it was._

_‘Blond,’ his father answered with the patience of someone who had held this conversation many times before. ‘What colour is yours, liten rev?’_

_His father had called him by his nickname. Little Fox._

_‘Red,’ said Frode, satisfied he knew the answer. ‘Like mamma’s.’_

_His father smoothed a hand over his mother’s hair. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’_

Only the cold silence of the graveyard met Frode when his mind returned to the present. Perhaps he wasn’t ready for that terrible nothing of death yet. That utter absence of possibility. Perhaps in a few years, the way he felt now would be nothing but a bad memory.

He picked up the fox and dusted the snow off its paws, but couldn’t walk away without having said anything. He stuck his freezing hands in the pockets of his parka.

‘Dad, I miss you. It’s taken me a while to understand why you did this, and I still wish you could’ve stuck around for us, but… I get it now. I forgive you. I hope you’re at peace.’ 

 

***

 

The sound of Stein’s voice greeting them from the living room when they returned to the cabin stopped Frode in his tracks. Checking himself into the psychiatric hospital right here, right now appealed to him more than facing another confrontation with his stepfather.

‘Hey… Did Espen leave?’ Frode asked from the doorway, hesitant to enter.

‘He went to see one of his friends, I believe,’ Stein answered in a strange tone of voice. ‘I think he expected you to be gone all day.’

Espen was with Daniel, then. Daniel likely needed his support as much as Frode at the moment.

‘Sit down for a minute, lad.’

Circling the coffee table, Frode sat on the far end of the couch that Stein already occupied, and stared at his hands.

Stein cleared his throat. ‘I want you to know I regret our conversation the other day. I thought I had the whole picture, but I didn’t. I mean, I stand by what I said about your treatment of Espen, but it definitely wasn’t my intention to upset you to this degree.’

‘No,’ Frode protested quietly. ‘I was–’

‘Frode, listen. I’m sorry I lashed out. Espen probably already made it clear, but we’re not leaving you and Marit behind in this mess.’

Frode raised his head, but couldn’t bring himself to look his step-father in the eyes. ‘After everything…?’

‘I’ve loved you and have been invested in your wellbeing for over two decades,’ Stein said quietly. ‘I never had the illusion this would be easy when your mother and I went down this road, and I was always committed to you and Jens first and foremost. We never even had the intention to bring another child into the mix.’

Frode opened his mouth uncertainly. ‘What?’

‘We never… Of course I was excited when she got pregnant unplanned, but I won’t deny it complicated things.’

Frode found himself staring Stein in the face. ‘I always thought Espen was supposed to be the child that would make everything right.’

‘No. Look, for me he undeniably is. I think you understand why. He reciprocates my love. But that doesn’t mean I love you and Jens any less.’

‘When Espen was born, Jens and I felt like we were being replaced. As if there was something wrong with us, that made our father abandon us, and mum ignore us in favour of starting a new family. That it was your plan all along to replace us with a child of your own instead of being there for us like you made it seem.’

‘And you blamed Espen rather than us...’ Stein said slowly.

‘Mum could never do anything wrong in my eyes, and I didn’t want to admit to myself that anything you did could hurt me. Espen was an easier target.’

‘Marit never wanted to hear about it whenever the two of you pulled some kind of stunt on him, but you can imagine what the first thing was that went through my mind when I heard about that accident.’

Frode tangled his fingers together in his lap to stop his hands from shaking. ‘About that, now that we’re doing full disclosure anyway… It  _was_  my fault. My actions were the direct cause–’

Stein abruptly got up and paced the room. ‘I knew it!’

‘I’m sorry,’ Frode whispered as Stein turned away from him, in the direction of the door. ‘Stein, I’m so sorry. I fucked everything up because I couldn’t see beyond what was going on in my own head.’

Silence stretched. Stein did not exit the house to leave forever like Frode expected him to. ‘I can see you’re sorry,’ he eventually said.

Frode couldn’t help but look up. Stein lowered himself back on the sofa, next to him.

‘And I can see you’ve been trying to change.’ Stein wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and squeezed firmly. ‘I don’t believe it’s any use to keep holding this against you, and I hope you can do the same for yourself, at some point.’

Frode reminded himself to breathe.

 

***

 

Espen came back just after dark, took one look at Frode, and sent Marit and Stein home. They went with reluctance, but Espen stood his ground until he could close the front door behind their parents. He turned to Frode, who leaned against the wall of the hallway behind him, nauseous and exhausted. ‘Did you get through the day okay?’

‘It’s been… intense. We were at my father’s grave earlier, and then your dad came here to talk. I suppose there were a lot of things that needed to be said before I go to the hospital, but it all feels so–’ Frode’s breath caught in his throat. ‘I know it was important, but it feels insignificant, compared to–’

‘Losing Dan.’

Blinking back tears, Frode gave a curt nod. ‘How is he?’

‘He’s dealing with it.’ Espen avoided going into detail. ‘Have you eaten yet?’

Sick to his stomach from the sheer magnitude of his heartbreak, Frode lied so Espen would get off his case.

Espen got comfortable on the couch and turned on the TV for some background noise. He pulled Frode close so he could pet through his hair and scratch his scalp in a very primitive, yet somehow comforting gesture. ‘Talk to me.’

Frode considered the ramifications of being truthful for a long moment. ‘You know what I hate most about what happened with my dad? That I can’t die now.’

‘Well, you nearly did. But what do you mean?’

‘It’s like, I forgave him for what he did, because I understand now that some things hurt so much that you’ll do anything to avoid it. But in the same way, I hate that the burden of staying alive falls on me now. That I know exactly what kind of toll it takes, and that this is not an option unless I’m willing to destroy my mother. And I’m not. I love her too much.’

Espen nodded. ‘It would destroy her regardless of what your father did. But you know, ultimately, that love is something that has the power to pull you through, if you can keep reminding yourself it’s there.’

Frode let him talk, wondering what Espen could possibly know about feeling like this.

‘I’ve had times where I thought peacing out was the kindest thing I could do for myself, but I could always convince myself to keep going a couple more days, or months, or a year, just to experience things I loved. And in the end I realised that I love life itself, struggles and heartbreak and all, and that I have the power to make things better for myself through my choices.’

‘You haven’t done what I’ve done.’

‘No. Of course there’s no comparing our experiences. All I’m saying is that once you create the circumstances under which it’s possible for you to get better, you will.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Of course you do. That’s the depression talking. Go get treated. Take your time. I’ll be here to help you back on your feet like you did for me.’

Espen eventually made Frode get up and pack his overnight bag so he wouldn’t have to rush in the morning. As Frode stuffed the bag with essentials he usually took to the rig, he noticed Espen looking over his shoulder at the shelf that contained a good chunk of Daniel’s wardrobe.

‘I’m going to see him again tomorrow. Shall I take his stuff?’

Frode didn’t know what was worse: giving up all hope of a reconciliation between him and Daniel right away, or coming home later to the reminder of what he lost. ‘Sure. There’s things of his in the bathroom as well.’

Espen moved away to collect Daniel’s hair products and toothbrush, and wrapped the toiletries up in a plastic bag before resigning them to the bottom of the duffel bag he found on the floor in the closet. With a care he never showed for any of his own things, he placed Daniel’s clothes on top and put the bag near the door.

The strength to keep standing fled Frode from one moment to the next. He tossed his overnight bag down and sat on the edge of the bed with his head spinning.

Espen picked up the bag and took half the underwear and socks out. ‘You don’t really think it’ll be that long before one of us comes to see you, do you?’  

‘I don’t know. I don’t want this.’

‘Well, you made bad choices and did some stupid shit, and now you’re going to have to suffer for it. But you know what? If you start making better choices now, you won’t have to suffer forever.’

Frode held his silence.

‘I know it sucks to make yourself vulnerable when you’re already hurting, but you have to clean out these wounds before they can heal.’

Protest died in Frode’s throat, though he powerlessly shook his head.

Espen’s voice turned stern. ‘You owe it to me, Frode. Don’t think I’ll let you off the hook before you keep your end of the bargain.’

Frode looked up into his hard, boyish face. ‘And what would that be?’

‘Remember that letter you wrote? These are my terms…’   

 


	24. Chapter 24

Monday dawned gloomy and cold. Frode had been in and out of bed throughout the night, anxious and sleepless, waking Espen every time he jolted out of a nightmare or left the bedroom for a while. When the alarm went off, Frode already sat against the headboard, staring out the dark window through a gap in the curtains.

Espen rolled over to face him. ‘Shit night?’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever been quite this desperate for sleeping pills. Everything’s sort of flowing together in some inescapable nightmare.’

‘Maybe they’ll let you have some at the hospital, where they can control the dose.’

‘Maybe.’

Unsure what else to say, Espen slipped out of bed and got dressed. There was nothing to do but wait for their mother to come pick Frode up. He watched Frode aimlessly ghost through the house, quiet, mournful, in limbo. The hour crept by at an excruciating pace.

Espen offered to come along when Marit arrived, but Frode insisted on saying goodbye at the house. Espen hugged him tight. He didn’t need to remind Frode of his incurred debt; Frode brought it up himself.  

‘When I get out of the hospital, I'll start making it up to you.'

For what it was worth, he sounded sincere. He got into the car, and left Espen behind in his empty house.

Espen put off his own departure a while longer by cleaning up in anticipation of Frode’s eventual return. It was still early in the morning, and Daniel would definitely not appreciate being spoken to before his second cup of coffee under these circumstances. After straightening the bedroom and spinning a load of laundry, he raided the fridge for breakfast. Who knew when Frode would be discharged into outpatient care, anyway? It wouldn’t do to leave stuff lying around.

Satisfied that he left the place in a habitable state with the laundry drying on a rack in the bathroom, Espen locked up and drove his father’s car to the house of Daniel’s parents.

He walked the slippery path to their front door wishing he had his crutches for support. No one answered the door, and he was left waiting for a reply to the text he shot off to Daniel in the cold.

_I’m at Mette’s house. Don’t come over. ~ Daniel_

Espen frowned at the text. If Daniel truly didn’t want him to come over, wouldn’t he have omitted his location? Shuffling down the path, he got back in the car and drove over to the neighbourhood he knew Mette lived in. Though he did not know the exact address, a familiar car provided the final clue he needed to locate her house.

A group of excited children in  _bunad_  crowded at the front door when it opened. They fixed him with curious stares.

‘Hey, I’m looking for Daniel,’ he told the children.

Among the noise, a girl with red stockings under her black skirts broke away from the group to yell through the hallway. ‘Daniel! There’s a man looking for you!’

‘Oh, fuck me,’ Daniel swore, with his sisters immediately chiding him. ‘Is he here?’

Espen lifted the bag with Daniel’s clothes over the heads of the children, and carefully waded through the narrow hallway. In the living room, Daniel stood with his little niece on his arm. Mette plucked something from the white stockings he wore underneath black breeches. He had his feet in untied black dress shoes. Disregarding the ashen grief on his face, he was a vision with his black hair cascading over the old fashioned, high-collared dress shirt.

‘Wow.’ 

‘I told you not to come, you shithead,’ Daniel said. ‘I forgot they’d planned this sideshow today.’

‘Never thought I’d get the pleasure of seeing you in bunad. Though… it’s not like you to cave to pressure.’

‘There’s too many of them.’ Daniel said, with a look at the gaggle of attending women. ‘Frode might have supported me in my cause, but seeing as I’ll be going alone now, nothing even matters anymore…’

He averted his eyes, and smoothed Åse’s hair to busy his hands.

Espen set the bag down and cleared his throat. ‘I thought I’d save you a trip back to get your stuff. Everything’s supposed to be in here, but let me know if anything is missing.’

‘Thanks, sweetheart,’ Daniel forced himself to say.

Espen rubbed his aching back and glanced at the door. ‘I’ll be at my house if you want to hang out later. Or are you going back to Oslo today?’

‘I might.’

‘Okay, we’ll talk later.’

Daniel’s voice called him back as he made to leave the room. ‘Espen… stay.’

Espen lingered with a hand on the door frame, and looked back.

Daniel handed Åse over to Mette, and approached Espen with his untied shoelaces dragging behind him on the tile floor. ‘Remember what I asked you that night when I first saw you walk again?’

Tears sprang into Espen’s eyes at the memory. He’d seen this coming. They both had. And though Daniel had done everything in his power to avert disaster, Espen was not blameless in pushing Frode over the edge. In his ignorance, he hadn’t anticipated that breaking down Frode’s walls, necessary as it had seemed, would end up breaking Daniel’s heart.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Espen whispered.

‘No,’ Daniel said, gripping his upper arm painfully hard, ‘you need to keep it together. I need you now, and you promised me.’

Espen took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. ‘Okay.’

‘Sit down, I can see your back is killing you.’

Espen gratefully took a seat next to Reidun, who sat watching the fitting session from the sofa in an incredibly outdated denim skirt that screamed Christian fundamentalist. ‘Is this what you’re wearing on the big day?’

Reidun rolled her eyes when Daniel let out a weak laugh. ‘Shut up, Espen.’

Mette held out a red silk waistcoat with patterned golden flowers for Daniel to try on.

 Daniel wrinkled his nose in disgust. ‘You know I don’t wear colours.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Daniel. This is just how it is.’

‘Have something made in black and I’ll wear it, otherwise the deal is off. Espen, help me out here – would you for the life of you wear something as tacky as this?’

Espen shrugged. ‘I have one in red and black tartan. It’s nicer than that one, though.’

Daniel fixed him with a sharp look. ‘You have….? You mean all this time you and Marius have been laughing at me for my family’s backwards tendencies you have actually had one of these stashed away somewhere?’

‘In my defence, I haven’t worn it since before I met you. Last time dad and I actually went to the Constitutional Day parade was about four years ago.’

‘Yeah, you know what? As a punishment for your hypocrisy, you are now my date to that blasted wedding, and you’re wearing it.’

Just as Espen felt a stupid grin spread across his face, his phone rang. The caller ID was his mother’s. He pushed himself up off the couch and walked out of the room with a murmured apology. ‘Mum, hi. How did it go?’

Marit’s voice sounded on the verge of panic. ‘Espen… he ran away.’  

 

***

 

Espen yanked up the handbrake of his father’s car before it had properly come to a halt on the sloping driveway of their house. Struggling out of the low driver’s seat, he stumbled up to the front door. His mother met him in the hall, and took him by the elbows.

‘I just got a call from the police. They found him waiting for a bus at the station. They’ve detained him.’

‘Well, at least he’s safe,’ Espen tried, still out of breath with fright. ‘What happened?’

‘He made a break for it when I parked at the hospital,’ Marit said, raising a trembling hand to cover her mouth. ‘I warned him that I’d get him a detention order if he didn’t go.’

‘Then that’s what we’ll do, right?’ Espen wrapped an arm around her shoulders and steered her to the kitchen to make her a cup of tea. ‘How does it work? Can I help?’

‘My lawyer will be here shortly to prepare the case.’

‘If you need any dirt on him to convince the judge… Daniel’s coming over in a bit. Did the police mention if Frode said anything?’

‘The officer I spoke to told me Frode wanted to go home. When they insisted on dropping him off at the hospital like I’d asked, he tried to fight them off.’

Espen winced. ‘This is so messed up, Mum.’

Marit rested her face in her hands. ‘Am I a bad parent, Espen? Is that what it all comes down to? Is it because of me that Frode is an addict, Jens is an anxious wreck, and you’re into black metal?’

Sitting down next to her, Espen took her hand. ‘I honestly don’t think you’re a bad parent, Mum. I mean, when you’re reacting to bad things happening in your life it’s impossible to know how your decisions are going to play out. And at some point you just want to leave it behind.’

‘I should have recognised where Frode’s behavioural problems stemmed from.’

‘Frode has always been very good at pretending to be in control, and having his shit together, and shifting the blame. He’s always had his guard up and never let anyone see inside. He didn’t ever behave badly around you, either. There was nothing you could’ve done.’

‘Your father seems to think I’m a bad parent for ignoring his and your concerns.’

‘Well, it’s easy to be a good parent when you haven’t been traumatised and stuck in damage control mode for years.’

‘It’s not an excuse. I’m not a victim. I adapted and grew.’

‘Yeah, and I think we’re all really proud of you for that. Me, Jens and Frode for sure. Listen Mum, we love you. We all lost sight of each other at one point in this family, but I think that if we choose to look out for each other again now that we’ve had this rather rude awakening, we’ll be alright.’

Marit smoothed a hand over Espen’s hair. Her gaze lingered on his left shoulder. ‘You’re such a smart boy. Remind me not to underestimate you anymore.’

‘Are you talking about the thing with the tattoo?’

Marit faintly shook her head. ‘Show it to me again?’

Pulling off his jumper, Espen hitched up the sleeve of the t-shirt covering his tattoo.

‘What does it mean?’ Marit asked, tracing the three interlocked triangles with her finger.

Flustered, Espen looked away and shrugged. ‘What do you see in it?’

‘That you love your brothers.’ When Espen merely smiled, his mother covered the tattoo up with his sleeve again. ‘Did it hurt when you got it?’

Espen let out a quiet laugh. ‘Hurt is a big word.’

  

***

 

Espen’s boots sank into the deep snow on Frode’s property when he left the car on the side of the road and got out. With a grocery bag in hand, he shuffled carefully past Frode’s snowed-in car, towards the dark cabin. The curtains were closed everywhere except in the kitchen, where he saw the dirty dishes piled up. He let himself in unannounced, and nearly tripped over the shoes and coat Frode had left lying on the doormat.

Once the dishwasher ran, he put away the groceries. Frode had to hear him, but gave no sign of life. To his dismay, Espen saw he was still in bed. That never boded well. He picked up the laundry he found on the bedroom floor, and took it to the bathroom. Empty medication boxes littered the top of the dryer.

Making a round through the rest of the cabin before going up to him, Espen straightened the living room a bit. The bleak mess he found around the house stood in sharp contrast with the neat order his brother normally maintained, and seemed to get worse with every visit since Frode got back from the hospital. He made his way to Frode’s desk, where his brother had covered up a stack of papers. Espen glanced them over. They were completed assignments for the behavioural therapy he followed as part of his treatment. It was one of the few things Frode managed to get done these days, utterly consumed by the despair he could barely keep at bay. Espen thought it was taking a long time for his treatment to have effect.

He finally approached Frode in the dark bedroom, and kissed the top of his head.

‘It’s me again. You feel like getting out of bed? We need to take a trip to the pharmacy.’

‘Some other time, maybe.’

‘Having a bad day?’

Frode rolled over onto his back, but didn’t quite look at Espen. ‘I called Daniel yesterday.’

Espen scooted closer on the bed, until he sat cross legged next to his brother on the covers. He centred the opening of the heavy torc Daniel had given him. ‘What did you guys talk about?’

Frode sat up, but instead of answering, he studied the beautiful reproduction of the distinctive necklace of the Celts, Germanic and Nordic peoples. Ram’s heads decorated both ends of the stiff, braided bronze wire. ‘I see he finally got around to giving you this.’

‘Yeah, the other week. He said it was supposed to have been a birthday gift from the two of you?’

Frode nodded. ‘I’m sorry I missed it.’

‘You had a legitimate reason, being locked up and everything. And besides, we were in Oslo all weekend with the band. You wouldn’t have liked it.’

Frode shot him a faint smile, and brushed the torc with his finger. ‘Don’t you think it’s over the top, with the sheep and everything?’

Espen smiled back. ‘No, I love it. Did you know the Celts revered the ram as a symbol of strength, being the protector of the flock and all?’

‘It suits you.’

‘Thanks.’ Espen held his brother’s gaze. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’         

‘I called him to apologise properly.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He asked me if we should give it another shot. I said no. Was that a stupid decision?’

‘I think that was a very selfless decision, though I imagine it was a hard one.’ Frode remained silent, and Espen had nothing else to say that Frode didn’t already know. ‘Go take a shower. I’ll fix you something to eat.’

After a slow hour of waiting on his brother to complete the simple tasks of caring for himself, Espen stepped into his boots and put on his coat. He tossed Frode his parka and preceded him outside. ‘Let’s go. How long have you been out of Fluvoxamine?’

‘Is it wise for you to go stomping around in all that snow?’ Frode evaded. ‘Where are your crutches?’

Espen scooped up a handful of snow from the windowsill, tossed it into the air, and let it rain down on his head. ‘Can’t really avoid it, though you could stand to pick up a shovel later. It’s getting hard to reach you house.’

Frode lightly rested his hand on Espen’s lower back as they walked to the car. Thick crusts of snow covered the pine trees around his house, and it was dead silent, even this late in the morning. Nature held its breath and waited. It would get worse still until it began to thaw up here, colder and more bitter, and even when spring began, there was no guarantee it would be there to stay. If only the all-encompassing darkness would abate soon. Every winter was a lesson in managing expectations, this one more than ever.

‘Did you hear about the wolf?’ Espen asked, stepping carefully in his own footsteps from earlier.

‘No. But that explains why I saw the old lady across the road carrying a rifle around.’

‘It was just a big dog, though. Belonged to a stubborn elderly farmer who had been lying dead in his home for a while.’

‘What happened to the dog?’

Espen shrugged, and fished the car keys from his pocket. ‘The shelter, perhaps? Anyway, of course shooting wolves is the talk of the town again, and not a single sheep actually died.’

Frode sent him a wry smile across the roof of the car before getting in. ‘Hey. Don’t underestimate the tragedy of dead sheep.’

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts on From The Heights. Please leave a comment or visit the blog at http://thenortherncold.tumblr.com


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